Echoes
by theicemenace
Summary: Hard living rock star Jimmy Blue is being stalked by Delany O'Brien. Or is he? Something about her is familiar, but he can't put a finger on it. She tells him they're living the wrong lives and wants him to help her figure it all out. Warning: Rated a high T for drug and alcohol abuse.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** This is another AU of the Avengers, post movie. Many thanks to ladygris for doing the Beta services again.

**Warning:** This story includes explicit and veiled references to drug and alcohol use and abuse.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the Avengers, Marvel, Facebook, Twitter, YouTube or any other social media. If I've left anything out, aside from the OC characters-which are totally mine, I don't own them/it either. Someone else does.

Namaste,

Sandy

_How cruelly sweet are the echoes that start,_

_When memory plays an old tune on the heart._

~Eliza Cook

**Avengers**

**Echoes**

**Chapter 1**

**SHIELD Compound**

**Quantico, Virginia**

The sun warmed the early spring earth outside, sending hordes of people to the parks to soak up badly-needed rays before winter reared its ugly head for one final roar. Inside the SHIELD compound, however, things were not so light-hearted. Seldom were, but less so today than most.

At the lowest underground level, Agent Natasha Romanoff and Director Nick Fury stepped out, heading to the only door. After each used the retinal scanner to verify their identities, they were admitted to the lab overseen by Dr. Erik Selvig.

At their approach, Selvig excused himself to the colleague he was talking and greeted them. "Director. Agent Romanoff. I was expecting Agent Barton."

Fury nodded at Natasha. "Agent Romanoff will be supervising security for your department going forward, doctor."

Selvig's bushy eyebrows drew together over his nose. "What happened to The Hawk?"

"He asked to be reassigned."

The astrophysicist's confusion stayed. "Does he understand that no one here holds him responsible for the events that occurred during Loki's incursion?"

"He does. However, he believes that his talents are better served elsewhere at this time." Glancing at his watch, Fury nodded once. "I have a meeting with the counsel. It's all yours, Agent Romanoff."

Natasha watched Fury leave then turned a grin on Selvig. "Translation: Barton doesn't want to be anywhere near your lab. Not that he doesn't trust _you._ He'd just rather not take the chance."

"Understood." Selvig waved a hand vaguely around the vast room. "Feel free to wander around. We've nothing to hide from you, Director Fury or the Counsel. Just let us know what additional precautions you wish to take."

"Of course. Once I get an idea of how everyone works, you and I can go over any ideas for enhancing security." Selvig had returned to his work on the computer and hadn't heard or was pretending not to, leaving Natasha standing in the middle of the room talking to herself. She slipped on a pair of HUD glasses and roamed around the room getting photos of each of the scientists and guards, their stats flashing across the inside surface of the lenses. Tapping the left side sent the info to her personal workstation where she could go through it at her leisure when she returned to her quarters at the end of the day.

Those who noticed someone new in their midst smiled blandly in welcome. None of the scientists cared as long as she didn't interfere with their work. One fellow with glasses and wildly curly hair ran right into her, scowling as if it were _her_ fault.

One thing she noticed, though it didn't bother her as it would some, everyone in the room was taller than she by three inches on the low side to more than a foot on the high. With a brief flash of humor, Natasha admitted that Clint had a point about seeing better from a distance. Down here among the staff, she couldn't see all the players at once, what they were doing or where they were going and with whom.

Reaching into her pocket, she fingered the handful of Stark tech Tony had given her. If she encountered suspicious behavior, a device the size of a two-carat diamond could be stuck in an inconspicuous place to monitor activity. She'd chosen that over the one Tony had used to hack SHIELD because it gave her more control by focusing on an individual rather than the entire system. These little guys could track a specific person, no matter if they logged in from home, the lab, or a secret hideaway filled with hordes of bad guys.

The most senior of the guards trotted to her side when she motioned him over. "What time do they usually close up shop?"

The man, easily six-three and two thirty-five, all of it muscle, shook his head with a wry grin. "They don't. Most nights, Selvig is here 'til midnight or later. Usually by himself, but sometimes he has company. Before the invasion, it got so bad, that Agent Barton started shutting the power down at 2330 just so he could get some shut-eye."

Crossing her arms, Natasha shifted her weight onto her left leg while chewing on her lower lip. "Sounds like a plan. I'll get with Selvig tonight and give him the word."

"Yes, ma'am."

The guard returned to his post and Natasha continued her patrol. After the third circuit of the room, she found a place to stand where she could see some of what was going on, but not all. What she needed was a better vantage point. _WWCG, Nat? Where would Clint go?_

High above everything, a maintenance catwalk was guarded by a yellow railing. Yeah, just like the lab that had been destroyed. Natasha sent a junior agent to bring her a rappelling rig, strapped herself in, and climbed up to the catwalk. Still in the rig, she sat down with her legs hanging over the side. From here she could see everything and everyone. Nodding in satisfaction, she waited for the night to end.

Hours later, she was back on the floor still waiting on Selvig to call it a night. Sitting in a chair in front of a dark computer, she watched the scientist fiddle and tweak and tinker and adjust whatever the hell that piece of equipment was. She wasn't a scientist by any means, though she got the gist of what Selvig and his team were doing. He was trying to recreate the power of the Tesseract on a smaller scale. In its final form, it would still generate clean power, but not enough to attract the attention of other realms.

Natasha had passed being hungry at least three hours ago. Now her need for fuel was becoming critical. "How much longer, doctor?"

Selvig's head jerked up at the sound of her voice, having forgotten she was there. "I'm nearly to a stopping point, Agent Romanoff. Why don't you have a cup of coffee and relax?"

"You know I can't do that, doctor." She tapped the screen in the lower right corner over the time. "Fifteen minutes then I'm shutting it all down. Don't forget to save your work."

~~O~~

Selvig knew better than to take Romanoff's statement as an idle threat. Keeping the fifteen-minute timetable in mind, he saved everything just before the power went out. "Agent Romanoff, I still had three minutes."

She appeared next to him, the curves of her face barely visible behind the beam from the flashlight. "It wasn't me. Stay here. Gilroy!"

Her voice calling for the guard echoed in the now-silent room as she headed in the direction of the main entrance. Romanoff had only gone a few steps when the device Selvig had been working, a low-tech version of the Tesseract, began to glow. "Agent Romanoff!"

He pointed at the dais when she reached his side, a low growl coming from her throat as the guards joined her, raising their weapons and surrounding the device. "Please tell me Loki's not coming back."

"It wouldn't be him. This device, while similar to the Tesseract, does not possess nearly the power to open portal to another realm. It shouldn't be on at all with the electricity off."

"And that worked out _so_ well for us last time." Her sarcasm matched Barton's making him wonder, however briefly, if the rumors of them being a couple were true. "Loki's spear is in a super-secure location that I don't even know so I hope we don't need it." Over her shoulder, she nodded at Gilroy. He acknowledged her unspoken order, gesturing to his squad, the team of five men and three women advancing on the dais.

Gilroy pointed at three of his people and they immediately shucked their backpacks, stuck clay-like clumps of a grayish substance at strategic points, inserted the blasting caps, set the timers and returned to their former positions in under a minute. Gilroy took out a detonator, flipped up the red trigger guard and said, "Fire in the hole!"

Two things happened so quickly that they seemed to occur simultaneously. The C-4 was ignited just as a bright white beam of light tinged with red shot through the ceiling from above, swelled and encompassed the entire room. All the occupants of the room dropped to the floor covering their heads and squeezing their eyes shut.

Romanoff, still at his side, grabbed Selvig, tumbling them both to the floor as the beam drove itself through his computer equipment. The computers lit up and information in an alien language carried within the beam began downloading itself into the network.

~~O~~

What no one could see was a small part of the beam shooting through the network overriding security and firewalls as if they didn't exist, reaching its goal with almost no resistance. It augmented the information Selvig and his team had entered with its own programming then activated.

There was another flash of light, different from that of the beam, that came out of the computers as if controlled by an otherworldly intelligence, striking Romanoff and Selvig. A millisecond later, it all stopped, and when Gilroy got to his feet, he ran to where they'd been standing. He exhaled loudly as he activated his headset. "Gilroy to Hill."

"_Go ahead._"

"We got a situation in Selvig's lab, ma'am."

There was a barely discernable pause, then Hill replied, "_What kind of situation? And where's Agent Romanoff? Why isn't __she__ reporting?_"

Ignoring the whispers from his team as they searched the room, with a grave tone, Gilroy said, "She's gone. Selvig too. One second they were there and gone the next."

A long moment of stunned silence greeted his announcement before Hill's response. "_What do you mean 'gone'? Where did they go?_"

"That's just it, ma'am. We don't know. They've completely vanished."

**Savanah, Georgia**

The spring night settled over the city like a thin blanket leaving the city chilly, but not cold. Or not what Natalia thought of as cold. In her home town, the normal night temperature for February hovered around the mid-twenties Fahrenheit making the current forty-seven degrees feel pleasantly warm. The citizens of Stalingrad would be out on the beaches basking in the sun wearing nothing but a few scraps of cloth. But here, they bundled themselves into coats, hats, scarfs and mittens.

None of that mattered to Natalia now nor would it had she been awake. All she cared about was the next contract, the next mission, and the next payment to her already substantial bank account. Over the years, she'd accrued more than enough money to keep her in luxury for the rest of her life, but she couldn't abide boredom and that's why she kept working.

In the day-to-day, her dreams were rather ordinary. Rehashes of the day's events or random flotsam her mind decided to churn up from the recesses of her subconscious. Nothing like what she was experiencing tonight. Images floated near then moved away when she tried to touch them.

One of the images twisted and changed, becoming clear and sharp. A man with laughing blue eyes, deep dimples and an impertinent grin. He was dressed all in black and carrying a bow with a quiver of arrows hung over his shoulder. His mouth moved, but she couldn't hear what was he was saying. She tried to tell him, but he didn't understand. He winked, turned around and walked away, swallowed up by a bright beam of light that overwhelmed them both. Suddenly scared, she called out to him, "Clint! No!"

She ran after him, both arms coming up to block the light as it expanded and swelled, then winked out leaving her in darkness so completely she couldn't see even her hand.

Natalia shot up in bed, panting and looking frantically around the dark bedroom, trying to locate the source of the terror that had wrapped its cold fingers around her throat. But she was alone, just the way she always was. Trust didn't come easily and for good reason. Though she'd tried to keep her past behind her where it belonged, it continued to influence her every moment of every day. When you've been betrayed by the ones you loved and counted on to guide you safely through life…

Something prickled the periphery of her senses telling of danger that was near. Very little frightened her, except maybe the dark places inside her own mind. She made no sound as she moved to the partially open bedroom door. Dropping into a crouch, a knife appeared in her left hand. Easing the door open a few inches, she dived into a roll, coming to her feet. The blade swished through the air stopping just short of its target.

The end table light to her right flicked on to show the face of a woman with dark hair calmly sipping a glass of white wine. Her legs crossed, the woman displayed no fear. "Is that any way to greet a guest?"

"Guests wait to be invited instead of breaking and entering." The knife was removed from the woman's throat, Natalia's gaze not leaving hers as she came around the end of the sofa to face her. She stuck the point of the knife into the top of the coffee table as a reminder that this could've ended much differently. Dropping into the armchair across from her guest, Natalia accepted the second glass of wine, taking one small sip then holding it in her right hand. "What do you want, Maria?"

The blasé expression showed just a touch of humor. "A man who will cater to my every whim and more money than I could ever spend in one lifetime, but that's beside the point." Maria Hill crossed one leg over the other, her foot making a small up and down movement. "He's stepped up his game."

"Fury?"

"He's put a bounty on your head."

Natalia snorted, one side of her mouth turning up in a smile. "Again?"

Maria uncrossed her legs, leaning forward to refill both their glasses. "Just thought you could use a head's up. He's doubled the reward." She tossed back half the wine in her glass and made a face.

"I'll be careful." Sipping the wine, Natalia thought it was time to broach a subject she'd left alone for too long. "Why haven't you removed Fury from the equation and taken control?"

One slender shoulder went up and down. "Maybe someday. He's more useful to me alive than dead. At least for the moment. That could change in an instant."

The women were a study in contrasts. Maria was lean, five-seven, dark haired with brown eyes and naturally tanned skin. Natalia barely topped out at five-three with fair skin, hazel-eyed and blonde. At least for now. Maybe tomorrow she'd return to her original color.

Uncharacteristically, the dream Natalia had invaded her waking mind. She didn't know anyone by the name of Clint though he did look familiar in the same way random people on the street looked like celebrities, but without the charm and charisma to make them famous. This Clint had it all. Looks, charm, charisma, humor, all wrapped up in a compact package that oozed sex appeal…and danger.

"Something on your mind, Natalia?"

"It's nothing." Crossing her knees, one foot swinging and the light falling only on the right side of her face, Maria held Natalia's gaze without blinking. Still unsettled by the dream, Natalia didn't have it in her to hold onto the usual posturing. "I've been having strange dreams."

One side of Maria's mouth turned up in a smile. "I'm not surprised."

"About a man."

A half-smirk twisted one side of Maria's mouth. "Now that _is_ a surprise."

"Not _that_ sort of dream. The feeling I get is that this man is a good friend. In these dreams, he and I have fought side by side. We've saved each other's lives many times. Once, we went into battle with four others, all of us members of a super-secret government agency that fights evil in all its forms." Maria's swinging foot stopped then started again. "Go ahead and laugh."

"Wasn't going to. I will, however, suggest therapy to begin ASAP."

"I'll keep it in mind." Getting to her feet as a signal to Maria that it was time to go, Natalia was better able to see both sides of her friend's face. The left eye was covered with a black eye patch. Scars above and below gave an indication of how she'd lost the eye, and though Natalia was curious about the circumstances, she would never ask. If Maria wanted her to know, she would say so. All Natalia knew was that Maria had left on a mission with Fury and his top men and women, and when she returned more than two months later, she had the patch. Natalia walked Maria to the door, both maintaining their distance out of professional courtesy. "Next time call first. I could've killed you."

"That would've been awkward." Maria's smirk said she either didn't care or didn't find the threat credible. "For future reference, I prefer red to white. Cabernet Sauvignon or Shiraz. Riesling will do in a pinch."

The door closed and Natalia was alone once more. She engaged all the locks and reset the alarm, though it hadn't kept a dangerous mercenary from getting in. Picking up the glasses and the bottle of wine, Natalia carried them to kitchen, replaced the stopper and left the glasses for the morning.

On the way back to her bedroom, she pulled the knife from the table and returned it to its hiding place before crawling back under the covers and staring up at the ceiling where the shadows danced, wishing things were different.

The fact that the leader of one of the most ruthless mercenary factions in the world, Nick Fury, had put a price on her head wasn't a news flash. But he must really be desperate to eliminate the competition if the price had been doubled. Fury was a brutal and cold-blooded professional. An attribute in an adversary that she greatly admired, even if he was trying to have her killed.

Privately, the man enjoyed the luxurious lifestyle that his chosen career afforded him. Only the best for Nick Fury. Not that Natalia blamed him. She had her own indulgences. But unlike Fury, she didn't take it to extremes. Her house and car were modest. Expensive clothes and jewelry were her weaknesses though she didn't consider them such.

Giving up the thought of going back to sleep, Natalia dressed for a workout and put on her running shoes. At the door, she strapped boot knives to each ankle, a third at her lower back and the fourth to her left forearm that was spring-loaded. All she had to do was flex her left wrist and it would be in her hand. To the bicep of her right arm she strapped an iPod. Natalia locked the door, reset the alarm, stuck the ear buds in and jogged down the street.

**Mira Mesa, California**

**Two Days Later**

At the end of a long private road sat a stunning 11,000-square-foot estate built to the original owner's specifications. When he passed away, the family sold it to the current owner, musician Jimmy Blue.

The home had been built next to the El Sol Poniente State Reserve. Composed of stunning spans of glass, concrete and metal, its clean lines, towering ceilings, and open floor plan provided the perfect atmosphere for entertaining. The home's spectacular views overlooking Morning Bay stretched for miles on a warm sunny day like today.

Inside the home you would find five bedrooms, six bathrooms, a combination media and game room, a music room, and an underground garage filled with an eclectic variety of vehicles, some that had never been driven by Jimmy. Only his mechanic.

The gym had every type of equipment one could wish for to keep the body fit. Jimmy had never used it. Probably didn't even know how to get to it except by accident. As a musician, he spent most of his time in the music room.

The patio in the center of the home received the bright California sun from an angle unless it was directly overhead, providing an asylum of tranquility from the fast paced world beyond the front gate.

The exterior design gave guests the illusions of quietude that usually ended when one stepped into the foyer. At the rear of the home, the garden was a riot of color. From the outside, all seemed peaceful and serene even in the face of the number of cars parked in a driveway rivaling that of an exclusive five star hotel. That is until one entered and wandered the not so hallowed halls.

There had been one _hell_ of a party the night before. Dirty linens, dishes, silverware and glasses sat on virtually every surface, including the indoor fountain. The bartenders had served beer, wine, hard liquor, water, soft drinks and so forth, and all that remained to prove the existence of such was the presence of empty and broken bottles strewn everywhere.

Thick pile carpeting covered the floors in the living rooms, bedrooms and the media room. Once pristine, they now sported spots that ranged in sizes from the very small to one very large pool of purple that smelled of stale wine. Thirty-six hours ago, it had been one of the most sought after red wines in the world. Now it was just another headache for the cleaning staff. But they were used to it. Jimmy Blue had parties on a regular basis and they always ended the same way: with the cops being called to clear everyone out. This time, however, they missed a few people who had deliberately hidden or had shown up after the fact.

The master bedroom covered at least a thousand square feet of the west wing and was done is neutral tones. Sports and music memorabilia hung on the walls and battled for dominance on every flat surface excluding the bathrooms.

The bed was unmade, and that was due to it being occupied. He lay face down on the side away from the floor-to-ceiling glass walls that faced the Morning Bay, the covers up over his head to block the light even though the shades were drawn. Snores kept time with his breathing and every couple of minutes they would stop then start again. One arm stuck out, the knuckles touching the floor. On the bedside table, the phone vibrated as yet another call came in.

At the same time, musical chimes sounded through the home, but the owner didn't even twitch until the chimes turned to pounding. First, just his left arm, the one hanging off the bed, jerked. Then the legs and head. Rolling onto his side, he battled from under the covers, swung his legs over the side and sat up with a groan. "Michaela! Get the ******* door!" There was no answer from the housekeeper reminding him that she was off for the next several days. He rubbed both eyes and yawned as he reached for a pack of cigarettes on the bedside table. Managing to light one without starting a fire, he sucked deeply and expelled the smoke as he got to his feet.

He scratched his stomach around his navel as he walked the hall toward the front of the home. A pair of legs hung over the back of one of the sofas and he barely managed to avoid bumping into them. However, in the process, he tripped over a pair of bodies lying spoon fashion in the walkway, catching himself on the opposite wall.

Through the stained glass of the front door window and those on both sides, a figure moved restlessly. Barely awake, Jimmy yanked the unlocked door open, finally putting an end to the pounding. "What the **** are you doin' here, Coulson?"

Coulson, a balding man in his mid-forties with a bland expression, took off his dark glasses and hung them on the pocket of his jacket, annoyance in his blue eyes as he invited himself inside. "As your manager, Clint, it's my job to make sure you get where you need to be when you need to be there. You have a photo shoot for Barron Magazine in one hour at the San Ramone."

"That's not 'till three." Clint stubbed out his cigarette in the first ashtray he came to on his way back to his room. "Goin' back to bed. Wake me at two. Make that two-fifteen."

With the patience of a saint, Coulson followed Clint, grabbing his arm when he tried to get back into the bed. "It's already two. You need to get showered and dressed so we can be there on time."

Tugging his arm from Coulson's grip, Clint again tried to lie down. "Reschedule."

"If you don't show, they'll give the cover to Logan Carter thereby fuelling your ongoing and very public feud." This time Coulson was able to steer Clint into the bathroom. "And don't forget to shave, but leave the goatee or your fans will revolt."

"Yeah, yeah."

~~O~~

Raising his voice, Coulson stated unnecessarily, "You had another party."

"_It was someone's birthday. Carlos', I think._" Clint's voice echoed in the tiled bathroom.

"You really should consider going into rehab." Waiting for a response, Coulson was sadly disappointed when there was none, telling him what Clint thought of the idea. After a marathon pissing session, the shower came on blocking anything his friend might have said. More than likely, he hadn't heard. In the beginning of his musical career, Clint had refused to wear ear protection and had sustained minor damage as a result.

From the bedroom, Coulson listened to his client and friend muttering under his breath. Going to the walk-in closet, Coulson took out clean clothes and laid them on the bed, a pair of faded jeans, a plain black tee, motorcycle boots, socks, boxers and a leather jacket. Clothing for the shoot would be provided by the magazine.

Eventually, the water turned off and Clint, more awake now, came back into the bedroom with a towel around his waist. He reached for his boxers as Coulson turned his back but didn't leave. He knew it annoyed Clint, making the rock star think his manager didn't trust him to dress himself.

"Coffee." The single word was muffled by the shirt Clint was pulling on over his head.

"We'll stop on the way. Did you brush your teeth?"

"Yes, I brushed by ****ing teeth. ****, Coulson. What _are_ you, my _mother?_" He sat down on the foot of the bed to put on his socks and boots.

His manager made an eye-roll that was ignored, as always. "Edith wouldn't put up with your **** the way I do. It's your parents' anniversary this weekend. Did you get a gift or a card?"

"They don't want anything from me."

"Of course they do. You're their son."

Snorting disdainfully, Clint grabbed his smokes and lighter shoving both into the pocket of his jacket then scooped his phone from the bedside table and turned it on. While the phone powered up, he grabbed his IWC Pilot's Chronograph and strapped it on his left wrist. That done, he scrolled through the missed calls finding at least six from his girlfriend, Alcina, another ten from members of his band, and one from Coulson. One by one, he deleted them. Accessing the voice mail, he entered his password and again deleted each message without listening to it. On the way to the door, he put on the wristbands and pendants he wore nearly every day whether he went out or not. Each had a special meaning for him, but Coulson didn't know or care.

Shaking his head, Coulson made a mental note to speak to him again about rehab. It hadn't worked before and he didn't expect it to this time, but he'd keep trying for both their sakes. Coulson and Clint, whose stage name was Jimmy Blue, had been friends since before Clint had changed his stage name to Jimmy Blue and switched from blues to a combination of Blues, R&B and hard rock. He hated to see what his friend had become and considered resigning his position, but then Clint would be forced to hire someone who didn't have his best interests at heart. That's why Coulson stayed despite the verbal abuse and constantly being taken for granted.

~~O~~

As soon as he stepped outside, Clint put on dark sunglasses to cut the sun's glare. He trailed after Coulson through the cars parked without regard for organization to a red 1962 Chevy Corvette convertible Coulson called Lola. Coulson never allowed anyone to drive Lola aside from her mechanic, Jorge. _As long as we've known each other, you'd think Coulson would let me take her for a spin just once._

Hat pulled low over his eyes, Clint slumped down in the seat as far as he could with the seatbelt on and pretended to go to sleep, stirring when they slowed down to pull into a Java Hut drive-thru. Just the smell of coffee gave him more energy. He accepted the cardboard cup and carefully took a sip.

A few minutes later, they arrived at the hotel where Barron Magazine was doing the photo shoot and by that time, Clint felt almost human. Or as human as possible considering that his life was just so much crap and had been for over a decade.

Coulson waved to the valet as he drove into the covered parking area and eased the car into a space as far from the others as possible. They entered through the VIP entrance and were immediately shown to the Majestic Suite on the top floor. The door was guarded by a Neanderthal in a suit that barely contained his bulging biceps and pecs. He nodded and let them in, closing the door with a click.

The room was chaos in motion. Anorexic women in fashion-forward clothing that looked like something out of a drug-induced hallucination abused the make-up, hair, and costume artists while drinking cup after cup of coffee through a straw to prevent teeth stains. As in the past, food was provided, but not one of them had taken advantage of the hospitality. Though he felt very out of place here, Clint would produce the emotions requested by the photographer without actually feeling them. He preferred women closer to his own age who were comfortable with themselves, no matter their shape, but to keep up appearances, he publicly dated women like the ones in this room. He included his current girlfriend in the first category. Their relationship was one of convenience for both as she was one of his back-up singers and twelve years his junior.

Using the now empty cup from the Java Hut, Clint refilled from the urn on the table, took a long sip and set it aside to remove his jacket and hat when a tall lanky blonde man bustled to his side.

"Thank _God_ you're here. I was about to call 9-1-1."

"I'm only five minutes late, Jared. Not enough to stress over."

Jared, flamboyant, gay, and very proud of both, rolled his eyes dramatically. "If anything happened to you, boobala, I'd take to my bed in mourning for at least two weeks with my _Desperate Housewives_ DVDs and an endless supply of Godiva." Clint allowed Jared to drag him into one of the suite's bedrooms and close the door. Racks of clothing in a variety of styles sat around the room. Going to the first one, Jared examined and discarded everything. On the second rack he finally found something that fit his exacting specifications. Jared held a silver gray silk suit up to the light, sighing. He added a matching shirt, tie and pocket square. "I suppose it will have to do. Go put these on."

Leaving the bathroom door ajar, Clint continued their conversation while he changed. "So you'd miss me if I were gone?"

"Naturally. The salary I get from you pays the mortgage on my luxurious abode. Not to mention the kickbacks I receive various interested parties."

Checking his look in the mirror, Clint brushed the sides of his hair to smooth it down knowing full well it would do no good. Jared had his own ideas and they seldom coincided with what Clint wanted to do. And as Jared was a friend _and_ fashion genius, Clint let him have his way. It was easier than watching him pout. Stepping out into the room, Clint turned in a circle. "How do I look?"

"Fabulous, of course." Brushing away invisible lint and wrinkles, Jared adjusted the tie and pocket square, and attached an expensively elegant tie tack. "Hands." Obediently, Clint held out both arms. Jared removed Clint's watch and multi-strand leather wristband, replacing them with the latest model Rolex, a paracord wristband supporting the Wounded Soldiers Mission and a stainless steel two-toned bracelet made of thick links. When Clint tried to go, Jared held him in place to insert cufflinks. In a conversational tone, he asked, "So how's that little tartlet of yours?"

Jared squatted to check the length of the pants, Clint rolling his eyes at the top of his stylishly coiffed blonde hair. "Same as always. Why are you so interested in my heterosexual relationships?"

His six foot plus towering over Clint's shorter frame, Jared grabbed Clint's right hand shaking his head at the silver rings on the second and third fingers. "That girl is _not_ good for you."

Going to the mirror, he examined his look again while Jared fussed over his hair. "We've had this conversation before, Jared."

"We keep having the same conversation because you don't or won't _listen_. _You_ need to find your soulmate." The designer pointed the comb at Clint's reflection then went back to work.

"Don't believe in it. And what Alcina and I have works for both of us. At least for now."

This time, Jared didn't bother to roll his eyes. It had all been said and done before. "And what will you do when your music stops selling? Mall openings? Be the entertainment at sporting events? Or God forbid, become an actor?"

Tugging on his cuffs, Clint turned from the mirror. "Funny you should say that. I've been approached to do a sequel to the High School Musicals playing Zac Efron's character all grown up."

"Oh, puh-lease!" Jared's fists jammed into his slim hips. "You would have to _grow up_ first, boobala."

With an insolent grin, Clint patted Jared's cheek. "You're _adorable_ when you think you're being funny."

Before Jared could formulate a suitably scathing retort, there was a knock on the door followed by a woman's voice. "_Five minutes, Mr. Blue._"

Clint took one step, stopped by Jared's hand on his shoulder. "And quit smoking. It gives you wrinkles."

"I'll think about it. And don't touch my cigarettes while I'm gone."

"You're my best friend, boobala, and you know how I worry."

Silently groaning, Clint needed all his will power, which granted, wasn't much, to withstand Jared's sad puppy look. The worst of it was Jared knew the effect it had on Clint. He had to give him props though. Jared used it sparingly.

Just as Clint closed the door, he heard the toilet flush, knowing that his friend had just sent his smokes to a watery grave. Jared only wanted what was best for him and he could hardly fault him for being concerned.

Clint presented himself to the photographer, momentarily startled to see a face he recognized among the gaggle of models clustered around the room. At the time they met, he'd been going by a different name so hopefully, she wouldn't make a scene, futile though that hope was. That night, she'd left scene all over his motel room and the manager had called the cops. She might've mellowed in the intervening years, but Clint doubted it. Taking a deep breath, he stepped into the fray, and the moment their eyes met, _he_ knew that _she_ knew, and that there would be hell to pay.

**TBC**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** This is another AU of the Avengers, post movie. Many thanks to ladygris for doing the Beta services again.

**Warning:** This story includes explicit and veiled references to drug and alcohol use and abuse.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the Avengers, Marvel, Facebook, Twitter, YouTube or any other social media. If I've left anything out, aside from the OC characters-which are totally mine, I don't own them/it either. Someone else does.

Namaste,

Sandy

How cruelly sweet are the echoes that start,

When memory plays an old tune on the heart.

~Eliza Cook

**Avengers**

**Echoes**

**Chapter 2**

In the dark, Natalia stared out her bedroom window. It was not quite two in the morning and she couldn't sleep. She'd been sleepless before, but it had always been a choice, not something thrust upon her by circumstances, the weather or her own thoughts. Tonight, it had been brought on by another of the dreams about people she never knew and events that never happened. More specifically, this Clint that she'd apparently imagined over the last week or so.

Dropping the curtain back into place, Natalia padded out to the living room, flopped down on the sofa, and picked up the television remote. She flipped through the channels until she came to a late night talk show that seemed somewhat interesting. Leaving the television on, she went into the kitchen to start coffee. From the other room, she heard the announcer call out the name of an actress that Natalia only vaguely recognized. A commercial came on and she tuned it out though lately, they were often more interesting than the shows.

She filled a mug with coffee and had just opened a package of chocolate chip cookies when the show came back on and a musical act was announced. She'd never heard of the band and the genre was a less harsh version of hard rock though still a little loud for her taste. All about a woman who'd broken his heartz. When it ended, the band's leader was called upon to join the host, a privilege not afforded to all musical guests telling Natalia that the host had a particular fondness for this group.

From the kitchen, she listened to the men talking, the singer's voice husky and smooth, like expensive whiskey. His name was Jimmy Blue and the band was called Fallen Angels.

Natalia closed her eyes and listened closely. Jimmy's voice was almost familiar, as if she'd heard it only a time or two. Going back into the living room, she grabbed the remote and turned up the volume. It wasn't _just_ his voice. She knew his face as well. It was the same one as in her dreams except that this one had darker hair and a goatee whereas the illusory man was sandy haired and clean shaven. The way Jimmy Blue lounged in his chair, the very picture of calm relaxation, stirred something else inside her, like a memory, but not as clear and defined. More like the echo of a memory.

In this memory, she could hear him calling her "Nat", a nickname she actively loathed. And if that were the case here, why had she allowed him to continue using it?

Returning to her seat on the sofa, she pulled the laptop over and booted it up while she refilled her coffee cup. By then, the computer was ready for use. Accessing the browser, she typed in Jimmy Blue, the results yielding a Wikipedia entry as well as a number of websites, official and fan originated. There were also links to Facebook, Twitter and YouTube.

On the television screen, Jimmy was given an acoustic guitar. He strummed a few chords and began to sing a bluesy version of Billy Joel's _New York State of Mind_. His voice was husky and warm, as if he'd just awakened from a night of restful sleep curled up next to the woman he loved. Involuntarily, she began to sway with the beat.

_Some folks like to get away, __  
__Take a holiday from the neighborhood.__  
__Hop a flight to Miami Beach or to Hollywood.__  
__But I'm takin' a Greyhound on the Hudson River line.__  
__I'm in a New York state of mind.__  
_

_I've seen all the movie stars in their fancy cars and their limousines.__  
__Been high in the Rockies under the evergreens.__  
__I know what I'm needin', and I don't want to waste more time.__  
__I'm in a New York state of mind._

The band joined in after the first bar, and when Jimmy brought the ending home, the audience cheered and whistled, the singer seemingly embarrassed at the praise, as if, deep down, he didn't think he deserved it.

One thing that had stood out from what little she'd found was that Jimmy Blue had graduated from Julliard. Not that it was a surprise. He was very talented.

The host, a dark-haired man in his late thirties, was floored. "_Wow! That was amazing, Jimmy. Not the type of music you usually play._"

Jimmy, whom Natalia was convinced was the same man as in her dreams, made a self-deprecating shrug. "_It's my mother's favorite song and tomorrow's my parent's forty-third wedding anniversary."_ He looked into the camera, smiling and giving a small wave. "_Hey, Mom and Dad. Wanted to wish you a happy anniversary. Love you._"

Shutting off the television, Natalia put her considerable computer skills to work trying to locate information on the singer, but all she could find was the official bio on his website. It told her nothing about his life prior to 1990 aside from the fact that he was from a small town in the Midwest, not specifying the state. Natalia didn't know how she knew that he'd grown up in Iowa, but she did.

Going to a secret compartment in the second bedroom, she took out a burner phone and dialed a number from memory, speaking to the person on the other end in Russian. "It's Natalia. I have need of someone with your specific skill set…Of course. The usual fee will be sent within thirty minutes of my receipt of the information…" She laid it all out and waited while her contact worked his magic. A short time later, he was back. Everything he gave her was straight forward and easy to remember so there was no need for her to write it down. "_S__pasibo,_ Deveraux."

She hit the end key and dialed again. This time she called the airline for a reservation on the morning flight to San Julian. That would give her time to make any necessary changes in her schedule. A quick mental rundown told her she had nothing pending that couldn't be postponed.

Back at the laptop, she sent messages off then shut it down. While that happened, she went over the info she'd gotten from Deveraux as well as that from her research.

Going to her bedroom closet, she took down a rolling suitcase, filling it with a variety of clothing, choosing each piece with the intent of attracting a specific man's eye. She shoved a pre-packed toiletry bag into the side pocket, zipped everything up and set the case by the door.

For the flight she chose comfortable traveling clothes. Jeans, sneakers, tank top and sweater. From the dresser she grabbed bra, panties and socks, tossing everything on the bed. When she was working, her clothing choices tended toward a more chic style that would ensure she was noticed by the right person or people. Today, she wanted to blend in with the crowd of weary travelers.

She stripped out of her pajamas, leaving them on the floor as she went into the bathroom to shower, and less than an hour later, she was on the road. Her car was left at a short-term parking facility five miles from the airport, and when she boarded the plane, the flight attendants barely even looked at her, just the way she'd planned.

Seven hours later, Natalia rented a car and drove to a small hotel where she checked in, changed and got directions to an upscale hotel on the other side of town. The valet handed her out, tipped his hat and checked out her backside as she walked away. Again, as she'd planned. Whereas she'd wanted to go unnoticed before, now she wanted to draw attention to herself.

Taking a seat in the lounge, she ordered one of the house specialty drinks, sipping it slowly as she watched and waited for her target to show himself while appearing to do nothing of the sort.

~~O~~

The Hôtel San Ramone was even more pretentious than its name. Elaborate gardens surrounded the building, each of the bright colors waving in the breeze begging to be noticed. The edifice itself was a conglomerate of styles, Neoclassical, Queen Anne and Gothic Revival, yet somehow it all worked. Tall trees shaded the patios that ran around the entire circumference. A tall fence and more trees shielded the enclosed courtyard from casual observation, and those who wanted to see in were forced to climb noticeably to the top of a tree. And plants. An overabundance of plants was crowded into the bed, their leaves and stems spilling onto the patio filled with wrought iron tables, chairs and benches.

The inside was filled with expensive antiques. They were in all the common rooms, every hallway, and every suite. No ordinary rooms for the guests of the San Ramone. Not even in the restaurant and boutique. In Coulson's opinion, it was too much pomp and not enough circumstances.

Just the thought of how much the furniture was worth made Coulson's palms itch. He eased his way over to the food and drinks past the models waiting for their turn to be called into the next room to be photographed with Clint, who they knew only by his stage name, Jimmy Blue. Not much to choose from, fresh vegetables and fruit, caviar, shrimp, and a few other delicacies, wine, lite beer, energy drinks, water, coffee and tea.

Coulson snagged a few shrimp and a bottle of water, carrying them out into the hall when he felt the vibration of an incoming call. Setting the plate and bottle on a King Somebody-Or-Other table, he glanced at the caller ID. Rolling his eyes, he accepted the call. "Julian! I was just about to call you…No, he hasn't had a chance to read the script yet…He's very enthusiastic about the premise…Of course. I'll have him read it tomorrow and get back to you no later than Wednesday…Yes, I understand that filming is scheduled to begin in six weeks…No problem…Talk to you…Say that again…Where did you hear that? No! Don't say anything to anyone about…She did? When? Uh-huh. Well, I will definitely be talking to him about it as soon as he takes a break from the photo shoot…Of course, Julian…Wednesday."

Leaning against the wall, Coulson rubbed a hand down his face and considered going to the pub up the street and getting ****faced. But if he did that, who would keep an eye on Clint? Jared might, but he was too easily swayed by their mutual friend. As his friend and manager, it was Coulson's responsibility to tell Clint what he'd just heard from Julian. After he received confirmation from an unimpeachable source, of course.

He chewed the last bite of shrimp while he scrolled his contact list for a specific name. Before dialing, he drank down most of the water and recapped the bottle. Taking a couple of deep breaths, Coulson prepared himself to speak to his contact. She answered before he was ready forcing him to wing it. "Lena Faminucci, please. Tell her it's Phil Coulson…Yes, Jimmy Blue's manager…Lena, darling! I know how busy you are so thanks for taking my call…How are you doing these days? Haha! What was that? Oh, you know I can't confirm or deny at this time…Of course, my dear. What I wanted to know was where this rumor originated…Uh-huh. I see…Well, when he should be ready to make a formal announcement later today…So sorry, darling, but I've got to run…Dinner the next time I'm in New York? We'll go to LaShey's. What's that? Oh, you're coming _here_…of course you can have a one-on-one with Jimmy…Not to worry, my dear. He's more than happy to squeeze you in…Day after tomorrow? That's doable. Let me know the best time for you…Ciao!"

Shoving the phone into his breast pocket, Coulson muttered, "****! One more ****ing thing to worry about."

And since Clint hadn't mentioned anything, Coulson concluded that he didn't yet know about the most recent rumor being blogged, vlogged, and posted to Facebook and Twitter. He closed his eyes and tried to think of something else before he had a stroke. Coulson returned to the suite to find his client talking to Jared as they went into the room where Clint had been changing clothes all afternoon.

He knocked and opened the door when Jared called out, "_Entrer!_"

"Jared. Looking as dapper as ever."

Jared's eyes skimmed over Coulson's khakis, button front shirt in navy blue and leather jacket over loafers. "And you're looking the same as always, Phil. You really should come down to the studio and let me do a complete wardrobe make-over. Women will fall at your feet. Or men. Whichever you prefer."

"I like women." Going to the bathroom door, Coulson knocked. "Got a minute?"

"_Not really. Why?_"

Leaning close to the door, he lowered his voice. "We need to talk."

The water came on, Clint splashing his face, presumably. While he dried off, his voice was muffled. "_What about?_"

Tossing a glance over his shoulder, Coulson saw Jared sorting through the racks of clothing making gagging noises. "It can wait." The light went out and the door opened, the men now face to face, Clint scowling.

Taking in Clint's attire of faded T-shirt, black jeans, boots and a wide leather wristband, Coulson momentarily lost track of his thoughts. "_That's_ what you're wearing?"

Looking down at himself, Clint shrugged. "The photographer wants some casual shots."

"I need to be there when the interview starts."

"It's done. Pretty straightforward, and I didn't lose my cool even once. You'd've been proud." Spreading his fingers, Clint pushed a hand through is hair. "Anything else, _Kemo sabe?_"

Ignoring his friend's attempt at humor, Coulson placed a hand on Clint's shoulder peering directly into his eyes. Somehow, after partying all night and not waking up until after two in the afternoon, the musician bore no lingering ill effects. Not even bloodshot eyes. "Whatever you do, _don't_ say anything to anyone without speaking to me first. Not until we've had a chance to talk."

Clint's eyebrows met over his nose in puzzlement. "What's this about, Phil? You're being more ambiguous than usual today."

He started to go around, and Coulson grabbed his arm. "Please, just _do_ it. I'll explain later."

Reluctantly and still confused, Clint nodded as Jared bustled over to drag Clint away. Coulson watched Jared examine and discard several watches before finding one he felt would do. The two men talked quietly then Clint checked his look in the mirror and left the room. As soon as the door closed, Jared was all over him.

"Oh. My. Gawd! Phil!" Jared took his phone out and turned it so that Coulson could see the display showing postings to Twitter. "Is it _true?_ And if it is, why didn't Clint _say_ something? He tells me _everything_ and hasn't even hinted at…" he shook the phone, "…this."

"That's because he doesn't know yet." Reaching into the pocket of the jacket Clint had worn to the shoot Coulson removed his phone, shut it off and removed the battery. "Not a word."

"Technically it should be coming from…" At Coulson's deadpan sigh, Jared mimed locking his lips. "I'm a vault."

"Appreciate it." Loud voices from the other room sent Coulson rushing to intervene before the photographer made a federal case out of it leaving Jared alone.

~~O~~

Keeping in mind what Coulson said, Clint moved as the photographer told him to without making any sort of remarks beyond the expected grumbling. One of the models, a woman he'd had a one night stand with years ago, purposely elbowed him in the crotch when they moved from the sofa to the bed. Despite the pain, he smiled and called her a name just loud enough for her to hear.

Their animosity had everything to do with their one night together. When he got up to leave sometime after midnight, she'd asked how it was for him, and, idiot that he was, he'd told her the truth. That her sensuality was all a sham. Sure, she'd been attractive-still was-but good looks only went so far. Her bedroom skills had been lacking though he knew for a fact that she hadn't been a virgin for a long time because it had actually been their _second_ one night stand. To be fair, they had both looked much different. He'd gone by another stage name, and his band-at the time they'd called themselves Empty Assembly-had been playing at dives and fairs, and she'd been modeling for a local clothing store.

It wasn't much of a stretch how Clint and Linda ended up here at the same time. She was one of the top models in the country, going by the name Aeron. Clint's current band, Fallen Angels, had been in the top ten consistently for the last twelve years, often playing to more than thirty thousand screaming fans. Sooner or later, they were bound to run into each other.

Sometimes, like now, Clint would think back to those days of playing for groups of no more than sixty people and wish he could be there again. He'd been happier, more content. Then, he hadn't had to go out in disguise just to buy smokes or have a beer and play a few rounds of pool with the guys.

"Yo, Jimmy. Space out on your own time. When you're here, I need you _here_."

The photographer's annoyed tone cut through Clint's reminiscences forcing him back to the life that had been thrust upon him. Funny how when you had nothing you wanted everything. Then, when you got it, nothing was how you expected it to be. And that's when you realize you had everything you needed to begin with.

"Ow! What the hell!" Linda yelled at Clint when he accidentally kicked her. "Get offa me!"

Clint rolled away from her then lay on his side watching as she put a foot on the edge of the bed to examine the ankle. There wasn't a mark, and Clint couldn't understand why she was making such a big deal out of it. "I barely touched you, _Aeron_. Get over it." He put emphasis on her stage name just to remind her that he knew who she really was. Knew of her humble beginnings in Billings, Montana.

The photographer handed the camera to his assistant and came to the foot of the bed. He twitched the spread on one side to remove a wrinkle, but Clint could tell it was just a ruse. "Will you two lovebirds save it for downtime? We have a schedule to keep and we're already behind."

Linda huffed at him then put on a pout and batted her eyes. "I'm sorry, Frank, darling. Jimmy and I were just having a small difference of opinion."

"Well, put it to rest for now and get back in position. We're moving to the parking lot after this and I don't want to lose the light. You know how unattractive you look at dusk."

Huffing, Linda turned on her heel and crawled up next to Clint, the two of them moving as instructed by Frank. Keeping his voice low and barely moving his mouth, Clint whispered, "Did you know that Aeron means 'murder'?"

In a sickly sweet voice, Linda responded, "No, it doesn't. It's just a different spelling of E-r-i-n. It means peace."

"In _Gaelic_. A-e-r-o-n is a Welsh name and it means carnage or slaughter. It's also appropriate because you're killing my patience, Linda." Once again, she jammed an elbow into a delicate place. Clint grunted, but the smile stayed in place, changing into a smirk when told to do so by Frank. Pretending to whisper sweetly into her ear, Clint said, "I'm surprised you took this gig."

"Why?"

Moving his head a fraction so that his lips were very close to hers, he said, "If it were me, I wouldn't want anyone taking my picture when I have a zit on my forehead."

With a horrified scream, Linda pushed away, jumped to her feet and ran across the hall to the women's dressing area, the bathroom door slamming and locking behind her seconds later.

"****ing great, Jimmy! It'll take _hours_ to get her out." Holding his anger in with an effort, Frank turned to a younger dark-haired girl standing in the corner as if she wanted to go unnoticed. "You. Come here. What's your name?"

"Socorro."

Frank gestured for a different camera, his assistant handing it to him immediately. "Well, Socorro, you're up. Get it right and this could turn into a permanent gig for you."

The girl, obviously fearful of Frank's temper, rushed to do as he asked. As the shoot progressed, the girl relaxed. She and Clint fell into a sort of natural rhythm, as if they'd been working together for years instead of minutes. By the time Frank called a break Clint and Socorro were laughing and teasing each other.

Going to the food table, Clint picked up a bottle of beer, but before he could twist the top off, Jared snatched it away. "No beer, boobala. You _know_ how it makes you bloat. You'll never get into the jeans for the next set if you drink that."

"Fine! I'll have coffee." This time, Jared just shook his head. "Water. I meant _water._"

Jared beamed his approval then took hold of Clint's arm pulling him toward the dressing room. When they first met, Jared would take him by the hand, and it didn't take long for Clint to put a stop to that. He didn't have a problem holding hands, but he preferred girl's hands to boys. Not that Jared meant anything by it. That was just his way. "Clothes are in the bathroom. Accessories on the dresser."

Downing half the water in one long draught, Clint closed the bedroom door leaving Coulson and Jared on the other side so they could talk about him behind his back. If he didn't know for a fact that Coulson was straight, he'd think they had a thing going on because they always had their heads together and would stop talking when Clint approached. But apparently, the only thing going on between them was that they both worked for Clint.

He dressed, used the facilities and had just come out of the bathroom when there was a knock at the hall door in a specific pattern. Checking that he was alone, Clint opened the door and let in a well-dressed Caucasian man in his early thirties with black hair and brown eyes. Anyone who didn't know his business would think he made his living as an attorney, stock broker or marketing. In a way, he was all three. To succeed in his chosen profession, he had to be knowledgeable about the law, convince people to invest in his products, and promote himself. Some would call him a financier. To Clint, he was a friend with whom he did a great deal of personal business. His street name was Dawg, but the name on his birth certificate was Doug, a self-proclaimed businessman, entrepreneur, and impresario. But to the police, he was nothing more than a common, every-day, run-of-the-mill drug dealer.

Clint waved him in, peeked out into the hall then shut the door. "Thanks for coming, Doug."

"No sweat, Jimmy. Happy to make house calls." Doug eyed the décor with the eye of a predator as he reached into his breast pocket. "Especially in a place like this."

Doug followed Clint to the dresser. Opening his wallet, Clint took out a stack of hundred dollar bills and passed them to his friend. Doug dropped a zipper bag filled with several smaller bags containing a white powder on the dresser. A second bag landed next to the first. It held a handful of tablets and capsules in a variety of colors and shapes. "That should be enough to get you through the next couple of days."

"It's the good stuff, right?"

"Hey, I only sell the highest quality products, compadre. There's a bonus in there too. Free sample of a new product I'm considering. Testing the waters, so to speak." Doug went to the door. "Later, dude."

Taking out one of the powder filled bags, Clint closed the seal on the large one, stashing both bags in the inside pocket of his jacket. He went into the bathroom and closed the door, coming out a few minutes later rubbing the end of his nose with the back of his hand. Picking up the watch and jewelry Jared had put out for him, he buckled the watch on his left hand and bracelet on his right then slipped the wristband on next to the bracelet. Grabbing his jacket, he gave his hair one last check on the way to the door. He needn't have bothered. Jared would make certain he looked good.

Out in the main room, he joined Coulson and Jared talking quietly in a corner out of the way while Frank and his crew broke down the equipment, stacked it on carts and transported it to the parking lot. Clint had been waiting all week for this. The next shots would be taken with him, a model and a fresh off the assembly line Harley-Davidson Tri-Glide Ultra in black and chrome.

Pointing his chin at the closed door across the hall, Coulson inquired, "Another of your conquests, Jimmy?" Coulson and Jared always called Clint by his stage name in public. Not giving his birth name to anyone aside from close friends helped keep his family from being bothered by the paparazzi when he did something stupid.

"Actually, I was _her_ conquest the first time. The second time it was right place, right time."

Jared snorted. "She did _not_ handle it well when you refused to take her calls after that."

Coulson looked thoughtful. "Seems I recall an incident where…"

"I'm right _here_, guys." They were interrupted by Frank pushing his way out into the hall and setting the last two cases on the cart.

"Let's move it, people! We're losing daylight. Literally."

A few minutes later, Clint found himself sitting sidesaddle on the Harley, his right arm resting on the handlebar with Socorro pressed against his back, both arms around his chest, peering over his shoulder. And while Clint found her very attractive in a naughty girl next door kind of way, physically, it was more like an older brother. Protective and teasing. Frank yelled at Socorro and Clint jumped to her defense, taking the blame.

Frank didn't apologize or reply. He just repositioned them with Clint astride the Harley and Socorro in the same position facing him, the leg toward the camera hooked over his thigh, the high heel of her boot digging in just a little. The outfit she wore, leather bra and hip-hugging boy shorts, left quite a bit to the imagination. Mostly about how to get her out of those small scraps of leather and into a man's bed.

At the edge of the cordoned off area, Clint saw his girlfriend, Alcina-also one of the band's back-up singers-arguing with security. While Frank switched cameras, Clint waved her in then, just to tweak her, he leaned forward and whispered in Socorro's ear, "Frank's so full of **** he needs an enema."

Blushing slightly, Socorro laughed out loud. Apparently Frank liked it. He stood there snapping off about thirty photos in a row. "That's great, Jimmy! Srachi, I want you to…"

Together, Clint and his companion said, "Socorro!"

"Whatever. Just turn around. Now look over your shoulder at Jimmy. You're having fun. He's the sexiest guy you've ever met. Jimmy, right arm around her waist. Lean into her and whisper in her ear."

Brotherly feelings or not, having a beautiful woman pressed against him caused a predictable reaction. Socorro gasped, and Frank again praised him. "Oh, you are in the _zone_, my man!"

Funny how this chore had turned into an enjoyable diversion once Linda had been taken out of the picture…literally.

Through the brightness of the spotlights, Clint could see Alcina fuming. The woman had a jealous streak a mile wide, and at the beginning of their intimate relationship, he'd been flattered. Now it was just irritating. "I don't think she likes you," Clint whispered to Socorro.

Without losing her seductive grin, Socorro responded, "Not here to be liked. Here to work."

Digging his fingers in just a little, Clint half-smiled. "She doesn't see it that way."

At Frank's direction, Socorro pushed even closer to Clint, her left hand splayed over his left hip, fingers digging into his backside. In response, and without Frank's direction, Clint let his right hand caress the skin over Socorro's ribs, around and down to her navel, stopping just at the edge of the hip-hugging waistband, mere inches from turning this sexy photo shoot into outright porn.

"Get away from him, *****!" Alcina stomped over to the Harley, boney fists jammed into her hips and glaring at Socorro as if it were all her fault. "What d'you think you're doin' _my man?_"

Socorro, somewhat quiet until now, swung her long slender leg over the handlebars with an ease and agility that Clint envied. In those boots, she towered over the much shorter Alcina, poking her in the chest. "What I'm doing is my _job_, *****! And for the record, if you took care of him at home, he wouldn't be shoppin' around."

With a growl, Alcina leapt at Socorro. The other woman proudly stood her ground, snorting when Coulson, who'd apparently seen this coming, grabbed Alcina and dragged her away kicking and screaming obscenities. Clint could've intervened in what was coming next, but preferred his current position as spectator because this would be epic.

Coulson finally released Alcina. She jerked her clothes back into place, smoothing her hair from her face and taking a deep breath. Before she could say another word, Coulson put a hand up to stop her. "Ms. Morgan, you are…"

Jared's expression brightened. "Phil, I will forego my next _two_ month's salary if you let _me_ say it. Please!"

Grinning, Coulson gestured for him to proceed. "Have at it."

With more glee in his expression than was warranted, Jared stuck a hip out to the side and snapped his fingers. "Girl, you are _so_ fired!" Angry, Alcina balled her hands into fists, lifting them as if she were going to hit Jared, who was not the least alarmed. She went from merely angry to full on enraged when Jared added, "And Jimmy's breaking up with you so get your **** out of his house."

Clint shook his head, laughing when Alcina growled, spun on her heel and stomped away, slapping the guard when he tried to take her arm. Coulson and Jared shared an exploding fist bump, and he gave them two thumbs up. To Socorro, he said, "My entourage takes good care of me."

The girl gave him a kind smile. "You're very lucky." Then, she kissed him on the cheek and went inside to change.

Not one of them had noticed that Frank had taken video and was at this moment uploading it onto the Internet.

**TBC**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** This is another AU of the Avengers, post movie. Many thanks to ladygris for doing the Beta services again.

**Warning:** This story includes explicit and veiled references to drug and alcohol use and abuse.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the Avengers, Marvel, Facebook, Twitter, YouTube or any other social media. If I've left anything out, aside from the OC characters-which are totally mine, I don't own them/it either. Someone else does.

Namaste,

Sandy

How cruelly sweet are the echoes that start,

When memory plays an old tune on the heart.

~Eliza Cook

**Avengers**

**Echoes**

**Chapter 3**

Several of the hotel's staff came past the lounge pushing carts holding photo equipment and covered racks of clothing. _Good,_ thought Natalia. _He'll be along any moment now._

Her phone vibrated bringing a look of puzzlement to her eyes. _Just_ her eyes. The rest of her features still showed a vacuous smile. She unlocked the screen and read the message. _Oh, this is __not__ good. Let's see what I can do to mitigate the damage._

From her bag, Natalia pulled out a tablet that provided a more user friendly keyboard to complete her task. With a few keystrokes, she hacked into the hotel's secured Wi-Fi and very quickly stopped the uploading of a series of videos that would make Jimmy Blue look immoral in the eyes of his fans. She couldn't allow that to happen to this version of the man in her dreams. At heart, she knew him to be a good man who didn't deserve the rotten hand he'd dealt himself. However, he seemed to think the opposite was true and spent nearly every day proving it to himself, his family and friends, and especially to his fans.

One by one, she blocked the uploading while allowing it to appear to the anonymous party that all was as it should be. When he or she checked back later, they would find no trace of it. Tapping the keys in a specific sequence she'd learned from Deveraux, Natalia placed a combination snooper and tracker program in place that would trace the upload to the source. Once there, it would then delete all files that had anything to do with the videos so that even with the skills of a computer genius, they couldn't be retrieved.

As for that other issue, she sent a virus out through the web that deleted the information. It wouldn't keep anyone from investigating, but hopefully it would slow them down a little.

The elevator doors opened and the man she'd been waiting for stepped out, a ball cap pulled low to cover his face. He went into the gift shop, made a purchase and was out again in just a few seconds. As he passed the lounge entrance, Natalia got to her feet and approached him. "Mr. Blue?"

He stopped, his head coming up showing that he also wore a pair of dark sunglasses though the sun was nearly down. Using the forefinger of his left hand, he eased the glasses down far enough to look over the top, the sparkle in those blue-gray orbs letting her know that she'd caught his attention. "And _you_ are?"

A smile flowed over her features as she extended her right hand. "Delany O'Brien."

His eyes took a leisurely trip down to her feet and back up to her face after lingering on her partially exposed breasts. The smile said he liked what he saw. "You don't look Irish."

"I'm not. O'Brien is my step-father's name." Her smile turned sultry. "I'm a big fan, Mr. Blue. Could I buy you a drink? We can talk or have dinner, if you'd rather. Maybe later, we can go for a…drive."

He held her hand briefly, releasing it and pressing his lips together. Natalia had been sure he'd been about to accept. What he said instead was, "Thanks for the invite sweetheart, but I have plans. Nice try though."

Slightly hurt at the rebuff though he didn't seem at all sorry, she let him take two steps before dropping a metaphoric grenade. _Fire in the hole!_ "I know who you are, Jimmy. Not who you pretend to be, but who you _really_ are."

Jimmy stopped, turned and presented her with eyes darkened by anger. "Lady, why can't you just accept the fact that I'm not interested and get lost before I call security?"

Again he started away, Natalia raising her voice just enough for him to hear. "You'll talk to me sooner or later, Clint."

~~O~~

At the sound of his legal name coming from a strange woman, Clint carefully arranged his expression to give nothing away, and turned, one eyebrow lifted in question. "Who?"

The very attractive blonde woman clasped her hands in front of her, completely serious. "Your name is Clinton Frances Barton. You grew up in Waverly, Iowa. Your parent's names are Edith and Harold. Your brother's name is Charles, but you call him Barney. He's with the FBI and is under investigation by Internal Affairs. There's more, but I think I've made my point."

Her slightly curly blonde hair was swept up and over to the left leaving both ears uncovered to show she had diamond studs in the lobes. She wore one of those straight skirts with a small slit on each side, the hem stopping no more than two inches above her knees. Her emerald green top was supported by wide straps and fit over her figure like it had been painted on. The skin above looked smooth under the matching diamond pendant, and he just knew it would be warm to the touch. Strappy heels the same color as the top crisscrossed over her feet letting her painted toenails show. In most venues, she would've stood out even dressed in sweats. Here, she'd barely get a second look…until she spoke. There was just something about her voice that captured his attention, and it wasn't just her words. That husky, smoky vibrato stirred something inside Clint, though he wasn't sure exactly how that could be considering she'd just royally pissed him off.

"What's your game, honey? You a cop? A reporter digging for dirt? Trying to set me up for blackmail? 'Cause that's _not_ gonna work for me." Delany flicked her eyes to the side, a signal that she wanted to discuss the rest in private. "Whatever it is, I want no part of it." Clint stood toe to toe with her, jabbing a finger in her direction without making physical contact. No way he'd let her accuse him of assault. "Stay away from me or I'll take out a restraining order. Judge Duquesne is a big fan and he's on speed dial."

To Clint's surprise, Delany laughed, but it wasn't with amusement. She took a half step forward until they were almost touching. "If I wanted to hurt you, I could've done so without leaving behind any forensic evidence. Your death would've been attributed to an overdose of the recreational drugs you're so fond of."

Shoving his hands deep in the pockets of his jeans to keep from slugging her, he shrugged. "No idea what you're talking about."

"Have it your way. Another thing I know about you is that, unlike most drug addicts who serve up the platitude 'I can stop any time I want to', you really _can_ stop. You simply choose not to. And that's because of the reason you use."

"If you know so much about me, _Ms._ O'Brien," he made her name sound like an insult, "why _do_ I do what I do? Not that I'm admitting anything, you understand. Just curious."

The last minute or so had been confrontational. Clint still felt it in the air. Delany's next words wound him even tighter. "To keep from remembering."

"Really? And what don't I wanna remember?" When her eyes dropped down to his chest, he thought she'd given up on whatever it was she was after and turned away again.

He'd gone as far as the hall that led to the bathrooms when she said, "That this isn't the life you were meant to lead."

Pretending he hadn't heard, Clint kept going, slamming the bathroom door open and darting inside. A quick check confirmed he was alone. Taking a deep breath, he let his anger and frustration out by kicking the stall door. Growling deep in his throat, he leaned on the edge of the sink, his breaths rasping in and out as he stared at his reflection.

How did she know about the dreams? They'd grown stronger in the last few months and he'd had to increase the amount and frequency of his drug use to compensate, to hold back the tide. As if it had a mind of its own, Clint's hand closed around the plastic bag in his pocket, intent on dulling his senses enough to head the dreams off before they started.

Guiltily, Clint removed his hand when Coulson joined him. "Where'd you run off to?"

"Nowhere. I just needed some alone time." He turned on the water and splashed his face, taking the paper towels Coulson held out.

"Someone said they saw you arguing with a woman in the lounge. Alcina?"

Patting his face dry, Clint shook no. "It was nothing. She mistook someone else."

Leaning his hip against the edge of the sink, Coulson turned a concerned face toward him. "Clint, I'm worried about you. For your sake, please consider getting help. Therapy. Or maybe all you need is rest. You've been under a lot of stress lately with the tour coming up, recording and personal appearances. Why don't you take some time off? Go visit your parents? Show your brother a little support?"

Balling the damp paper towels into a wad, Clint threw them into the trash with more force than necessary. "I don't _need_ time off. I need to _not_ have people raggin' on my ass all the time. I need…" Clint broke off, rubbing his forehead over his right eye where a headache had started. It was one of the signals that told him he'd have a long and sleepless night if he didn't take steps to prevent it. "Just take me home. I haven't eaten all day and I'm getting a headache."

Coulson's hand on his shoulder squeezed gently. "We can order in, and if you want to talk, I'll be glad to listen."

Already shaking his head, Clint went around Coulson to yank the door open. "I just wanna get eat and go to bed early for a change."

"Sure. Call Vesuvius. We'll pick up on the way."

Coulson led the way to the VIP entrance, a path that took them past the lounge. Though he tried not to, Clint couldn't help sneaking a peek inside to see if that O'Brien woman was still there. She wasn't, and he breathed a sigh of relief. Now all he had to do was make it home, eat and drug himself into oblivion. At least that was the plan. What happened was so much better.

~~O~~

The research Natalia had done hadn't turned up any property under the name Jimmy Blue _or_ Clint Barton meaning he'd bought the property under a different assumed name or through a series of shell corporations. That left only one way to find out where he lived.

After Clint went into the men's room, Natalia paid her tab, adding a gratuity that assured she wouldn't stand out in the server's mind. The valet brought her car, handed her in and closed the door. She drove down the block and parked in the back lot of a small old hotel in a corner where she knew the cameras had a blind spot. This hotel wasn't as upscale as the San Ramone, but it did have an old world charm all its own.

Taking off her heels, Natalia stood beside the car to pull on a pair of form fitting spandex pants then shimmied out of the skirt. She covered the green top with a jacket, zipped the front, twirled her hair into a bun and covered it with a cap before getting into running shoes.

From the glove compartment, she removed a small caliber handgun which was shoved into the back waistband of her pants. A single knife found a home strapped to her inside right ankle. She locked the doors and the keys joined an iPod in the pocket of her jacket.

Weaving her way through the parked vehicles, Natalia used the bulk of an SUV to hide her movements as she scaled the fence, dropping lightly to the ground on the other side. She stuck an earbud in each ear and set off jogging at a moderate pace.

A few minutes later, she stopped to stretch, conveniently next to the parking garage of the San Ramone, watching for Clint to come out. He seemed the type to prefer doing his own driving rather than taking a limousine everywhere. A red sports car came from the parking garage, skidding to a stop just short of the street, Clint in the passenger seat and the man she'd seen him leaving with driving.

Taking off running again, Natalia gauged the speed as the driver turned right and eased to a stop at the light. Her timing had to be just right. At the exact moment the light turned green, she stepped off the curb and was knocked off her feet when the car Clint was riding in hit her, sending her sprawling. She heard the emergency brake engage and suddenly Clint and the other man were there helping her stand. What they didn't see was her attaching a tracking device to the underside of the front bumper.

"Are you okay?"

On her feet again, Natalia jerked her arms free, shooting them a glare from behind dark sunglasses. In a nasally voice, she said, "No, I ain't _okay!_ Where'd the hell you learn how to drive, ass****? Ya coulda killed me." She carefully put weight on the leg that had been injured, wincing in make believe pain.

"I'm sorry," Coulson asked with real concern. "Could we give you a lift somewhere?"

"Oh, _hell_ no! You could be ax murders or somethin'. I'd rather take my friggin' chances on the street." And with that, Natalia limped away. When she'd turned the corner out of sight, she broke into a run again, climbed back into the parking lot and got into the rental car. She tugged on her black leather gloves, snugging the seams down into the spaces between her fingers, adjusting them over and over. It was a habit she'd recently acquired, and though she tried to stop, she couldn't. She wasn't nervous or anxious or uneasy or any of the adjectives one used to describe this feeling, and it bothered her that she couldn't exert better control. All her life had been about being in control of any situation, and somehow, that had been taken from her when the dreams started. She had to get it back and if confronting Clint in his own home did the job, then that's what she'd do.

As soon as the GPS powered up, she received a signal from the tracker she'd put on the car. The device had a range of several miles so she wouldn't have to worry about being spotted. Clint and his friend stopped at a restaurant then got back on the road again, and twenty minutes later, they turned into a private drive, the gate rolling closed behind them.

Natalia parked a half mile up the street then made her way to a place where she could watch for Clint's friend to leave before trying to talk to him again. Just outside the stone fence of the home across the street stood a tree sturdy enough for her to climb. She found a vantage point with line of sight on the front door some ways down the long drive. Bringing a pair of binoculars to her eyes, she settled in to wait for the red sports car to leave.

~~O~~

As always, a cluster of reporters were gathered on the street in front of Clint's home. Coulson made a call and they were sent on their way. Sensing his friend's distress, Coulson set out their meal at the breakfast bar instead of the formal dining room hoping that the casual atmosphere would lubricate his mind so they could talk. There was that other issue he had to bring up as well.

While the food was warming in the microwave and Clint was stirring his Zuppa Toscana to death, Coulson went down to the wine cellar and brought up a couple of bottles of merlot that would also go well with the lasagna. Apparently Clint wasn't in the mood to try something new tonight.

Taking down two of the crystal wine glasses, Coulson poured them each a generous amount of the deep red liquid. Clint scooped up the last piece of sausage from the Zuppa, ate it then pushed the bowl away. Taking the glass, he didn't even hesitate. Just downed the entire contents and held it out for more. Instead of refilling it, Coulson set the lasagna in front of him, placing the knife and fork near his left hand with the napkin on the right. "What's gotten into you tonight?"

Clint looked at him then back at his plate. "You mean besides breaking up with and firing my girlfriend, having a jackass order me around while insulting my friends-Frank, not you, being accosted by someone who says she knows me though we've never met and having you and Jared always on my ass about somethin'?"

He picked up his empty glass indicating he wanted a refill. Coulson set the bottle in front of him and opened the second one before coming around to take the seat next to his friend, thankful that Clint was taking it slow with his second serving of wine. That meant he wasn't drinking just to get drunk. "What woman?"

One shoulder moved up then down. "Said her name was Delany O'Brien. Probably fake."

Coulson made a mental note to look her up when he'd finished eating. "What did she want?"

"Said she was a big fan. Wanted to talk." He let his tone supply the air quotes. "The really strange thing was she knows things."

"Things?"

Clint chewed and swallowed. "About me and my family that's never been made public. My legal name, where I grew up, Barney's trouble."

Turning the cutting of his lasagna into a major production, Coulson made a short list of logical explanations. "Maybe she's from Waverly too."

"Don't remember a family named O'Brien. Could ask my folks, I guess, if they were speaking to me."

"Married name?"

Sighing, Clint shook no. "No ring. At the end, she seemed almost desperate, insistent that we talk privately." His face indicated introspection. "Now that I've had time to think, she did seem sorta familiar."

"Oh?" Coulson took a sip of wine. "Familiar how?"

Clint wiped his mouth, balled up the paper napkin and tossed it in the empty to-go container. "Like someone you see in the hall everyday, yet you don't really see them. Then one day, you run into them somewhere else and it's déjà vu all over again."

This was a surprise, Clint opening up about his personal life. The man never wanted to talk about anything but work. And that was fine with Coulson. It was just odd that he chose now to change the rules. Not wanting to startle or scare him off, Coulson elected to keep quiet. A decision that had paid off in the past.

"You may be right about therapy though. I've been having these dreams lately. In them, I'm me, yet I'm not, if that makes any sense. What's weird about them, aside from the me that's not me, is that I'm like some kind of super-spy assassin, and my partner is this really hot redhead who can get down and dirty, and still be girly."

By the look on his face, Clint suddenly recalled that he wasn't alone and had been talking about personal stuff. Encouraging him to continue, Coulson said, "Don't stop now. It's just getting interesting. I'm partial to redheads. Tell me more about her."

Clint waved a hand signaling an end. "Forget I said anything. It was all just a stupid dream. Can you honestly see me working for a secret government agency as a master assassin, killing people with a bow and arrow? Psht! Who _does_ that these days?"

That comment awakened a long buried memory inside Coulson's mind, reminding him that he'd once had a similar dream not too long ago. Coulson didn't often dwell on the debris his mind churned up while he was sleeping, and that night hadn't been any different. Life was easier if you didn't let things you couldn't change chip away at your peace of mind. Pushing away from the counter, Coulson gathered the trash and shoved it into the bag. "No more than you can see _me_ in the same position. Go to bed. And make sure you set the alarm to get you up by noon at least. I'm tired of dragging your sorry ass out of bed every day."

Clint followed Coulson through the house to the front door, Coulson waiting on the stoop until he heard the chirp of the alarms being engaged. Lola's engine roared to life and soon he was on his way home.

~~O~~

This part of the street was cloaked in shadow now that the sun had gone down leaving the tree where Natalia hid in inky darkness. It made watching the house easier. Just a few minutes ago, the red car had left the area headed back toward San Diego. Just to be sure, Natalia waited another couple of hours for Clint to go to bed hoping that a drowsy Clint would be a little more amenable to conversation than the one she'd spoken to at the hotel. Then, his eyes had given away his recent drug use. After a meal and a little sleep, the level of illicit substances in his blood stream would be reduced as would any push-back. In theory. She didn't really know this version of Clint Barton. Didn't know the version in her head either, but that's why she was here. To find out how they were connected, if at all. Or if it was just a horrible delusion brought on my stress and overwork.

Hours later, a physical imperative drove Natalia from the tree. While she was watching and waiting, she'd had located the home's floor plan. If this Clint was anything like the other, he was a bit of a narcissist, taking the biggest and best of the bedrooms for himself. Once inside, she would be able to find her way easily after first using one of the many bathrooms in the home, of which there were six total.

Shoving the compact binoculars into the pack at her waist, Natalia checked for traffic then jogged across the street, scaled the fence, and made her way up the drive to the front door. The alarm, though state-of-the-art, presented no challenge to her abilities and soon she was inside. Standing still to orient herself, she brought the floor plan to mind, and the route to Clint's bedroom.

Just off the main living area, Natalia took the opportunity to use the bathroom. She didn't worry about fingerprints or DNA that might be left behind. Unless it was necessary for a job, her personal information didn't exist in any database anywhere on Earth. She'd seen to that many years ago.

Padding silently down the long hallway, she stopped briefly to peek into the rooms as she passed. None of furnishings and color schemes fit with the impression she'd gotten from Clint earlier that day. His music was edgy and raw, however, his inherent personality had a less modern vibe that was more retro than metro. More than likely, he'd bought the home furnished and never had it changed whether through lack of time, desire or plain disinterest in his personal surroundings.

As she neared the master suite, the reverberation of snoring sounded a greeting making her smile. The dream Clint snored and talked in his sleep only when he had too much to drink, which seldom happened.

Standing in the doorway, she contemplated the best way to approach him. She just wanted to talk. All she had to do was convince him to listen. If this Clint was anything at all like the one in her dreams, that would _not_ be an easy task.

To the left just inside the doorway, a pair of slippers sat on the floor next to the dresser. She picked one up, gauged the distance and threw it, smacking him on the side of the head. The snoring ceased momentarily then started again. Rolling her eyes, she threw the second slipper with the same result. Looking around, she didn't see any other alternative but to proceed with plan B.

Inching over to the bed, Natalia grasped the upper edge of the covers intending to whisk them aside hoping the sudden blast of A/C cooled air would bring him awake.

Before she could follow through, her wrist was clasped in a tight grip as Clint rolled onto his back, pulling her off balance and across his chest. Faster than she thought he should be able to move, he continued the roll until they were in the middle of the king sized bed. She was under him, held down by his greater weight and both arms pinned above her head.

"Tell me why I shouldn't call the cops."

**TBC**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** This is another AU of the Avengers, post movie. Many thanks to ladygris for doing the Beta services again.

**Warning:** This story includes explicit and veiled references to drug and alcohol use and abuse.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the Avengers, Marvel, Facebook, Twitter, YouTube or any other social media. If I've left anything out, aside from the OC characters-which are totally mine, I don't own them/it either. Someone else does.

Namaste,

Sandy

How cruelly sweet are the echoes that start,

When memory plays an old tune on the heart.

~Eliza Cook

**Avengers**

**Echoes**

**Chapter 4**

"Speak up, Ms. O'Brien. I don't read minds." Clint's voice had dropped down to a sexy growl that vibrated against Natalia's chest. It felt good, and that didn't happen for her very often. Their lips were so close she could feel his warm breath on her skin, and that felt good too. Really good.

A smirk turned up the corners of her mouth. "And what will you tell them? 'A beautiful woman broke into my home and gave me a hard…'"

He pressed her arms deeper into the pillow stopping her from pointing out that his body was reacting to their intimate position confirming to her that he was naked under the covers. "_Why_ are you _here?_"

"As I said, I just want to talk." Though she could easily have gotten free, Natalia maintained the illusion that her strength was that of the average human female. "You lied about not being interested, Clint."

One shoulder twitched up and down. "Parts of me have their own ideas, but you're right. I'm _very_…" he paused for a long moment, easing a fraction of an inch closer, his eyes dropping to her lips, "…interested. So, tell me, what's your real name?"

"Does it matter?"

Clint shrugged. "Not really." His gaze flitted over her features and back to her eyes. "So, what're we gonna do about this?"

Pretending to misunderstand, she frowned at him. "This?"

His head dipped, and for a moment she thought he was going to kiss her. He veered off course to place his mouth close to her ear, again using that sexy growl. "We've established that _I'm_ interested, so I suppose the question should be are _you_ interested?"

"That's…" a small gasp was forced out of her when he took her earlobe between his teeth, the action making her breathless, "…beside the point."

Clint shifted until he was nestled comfortably between her thighs, giving her legs their freedom. It would take only a few seconds for her to render him unconscious or even reverse their positions, but she chose not to and didn't examine the reason why too closely. Especially when he said, "No, that _is_ the point."

His left hand changed position from where it encircled her wrist, sliding up to weave their fingers together. Turning his head slightly, Clint rubbed his stubbled cheek against her smooth one as he lifted his chest slightly from where it still pressed against hers causing a familiar feeling of arousal to whisper through her body. She gave up even the token struggle as his right hand mirrored the left so that now both were entwined. And this time, when his head lowered, he did kiss her.

Of their own volition, Natalia's legs wrapped themselves around his hips as she returned the kiss with a level of enthusiasm that matched him. Clint's left hand released hers, his fingertips blazing a trail of electricity down the sensitive skin along the inside of her arm to her shoulder making her glad she'd decided not to bring a weapon this time. But he didn't stop there. He continued the torturous path down to the side of her breast while their tongues battled. She refused to give in even when he lifted himself just enough to slide his hand between them to lift her shirt and reach inside to touch skin that seemed to be on fire.

Wrapping her arms around his shoulders, she flipped him onto his back so that she was now astride his hips. Pushing herself upright until her firm backside rested on his thighs, Natalia shed the shirt. No sooner had it hit the floor than he'd released the front closure of her bra and whisked it away.

Though she didn't want to be separated from him, it was necessary in order to remove the rest of her clothing, which she did quickly, then joined him under the covers. It didn't take long for them to cast aside all reason.

~~O~~

Clint awoke to bright sunshine and the feeling that something amazing had happened during the night. Rubbing his eyes and yawning, he searched for the answer, and it came to him when he saw the distinctly feminine clothing piled on the floor beside the bed. A smile spread over his face as his brain finished its morning restart.

The woman from the hotel, Delany O'Brien, had broken into his house and they'd spent the night pleasing each other in ways Clint hadn't thought of in a long time. Somehow, she'd managed, without saying a word, to remind him of happier times. Times when his days-and nights-weren't filled with work, work and more work. Music had always been his passion, the one thing that made getting out of bed worth the effort, but the last few years had been about more than doing what he loved. His passion had turned into just another job.

For weeks he'd been struggling with writing one last song for the new CD. Nothing he'd come up with had worked, and suddenly, there it was. He tossed the covers aside, made a stop in the bathroom to relieve the twinge in his bladder, grabbed sweats and a T-shirt, dressing as he crossed the bedroom. He hustled down to the music room where he ignored the smell of coffee coming from the kitchen, going straight to the piano. Tossing out the sheets propped against the music desk, he took several blank sheets and a pencil from inside the bench then sat down to fill in notes and lyrics. Just the melody. Later he'd add harmony and structure with the help of the band. Chris would handle anything brass, Carlos, the bass line and Drake would fill in percussion.

Running an arpeggio up and down the keys, Clint began playing the melody his mind had shown him, pausing now and then to make changes. His concentration was so great that he barely noticed when a cup of coffee was set on the edge of the piano, a napkin used to protect the instrument's satin-like surface.

Over the next several hours, the coffee was replenished as if by magic. He never heard or spoke to his benefactor, just kept working until he was satisfied with the results. It might need a bit of tweaking, but he'd finally come up with something that he was happy with.

Clint stretched his arms, rolled his shoulders and cracked his knuckles then played the song from beginning to end without stopping. As the last note faded, he was startled by clapping, Delany coming to his side. With a smile, she sat down, not touching him, seemingly unsure of his reaction on this morning after a night of intense passion. "That was incredible, Clint, and I'm not just talking about the sex."

"And all because of you. The song, I mean."

~~O~~

Clint's frank and honest statement surprised Natalia. "Me? We've known each other less than a day."

His arm snaked around her waist pulling her close. "Seems like forever. When we met yesterday, we both sensed a connection. I'm not talking about love at first sight. Don't believe in it."

"Neither do I. But you're right. There _is_ something here."

"And relax. The song's not _about_ you. Been working on it for a while. Just needed some…" one side of his mouth smiled, "…stress relief, I guess."

"Glad I could help." She touched his cheek and pressed her lips to his, and before long, they were once again engaged in a dance as old as time itself. They headed for his bedroom, only making it as far as the sofa in the media room across the hall.

Later, they took separate showers and met in his room. Natalia was putting on her boots when he emerged wearing just a towel. As he turned toward her, she glanced at his left bicep noting a tattoo that wiggled and cavorted with the play of muscles under the skin. Why she'd expected it to be bare, she didn't know. Or maybe she did.

He took out clean clothes and got dressed as if she weren't there. Now that the physical attraction had been at least temporarily appeased, an awkward silence descended over them. Crossing her knees, Natalia waited for Clint to finish dressing before she spoke. "We still have to talk."

"You're not gonna let it go, are you?"

"I can't, Clint. I need answers, and you do too. You just won't admit it."

He sat beside her to put his boots on, turning his head to look at her while he did so. "You don't live in the area, do you? I'm not going to stalk you, if that's what you think. And I don't need to know the city, state or even the country you live in." Getting to his feet, he snatched up his jacket and phone, leaving behind the unopened pack of cigarettes and the lighter. At the door, he looked back at her, extending his hand in invitation. This would all go easier if she didn't touch him again, but Natalia found herself doing just that. Clint held onto her hand until they reached the kitchen. He poured another cup of coffee for each of them, carrying them out onto the patio. She sat in one of the comfortably cushioned chairs and he passed her one of the cups.

She took a sip of the drink. "I'm staying at La Hacienda on Bleeker."

"You could stay here, if you like." Her eyes met his over the rim of his cup, a wry smile playing on his lips as he waved a hand. "Five bedrooms. Pick one. Unless you'd like to share mine. Up to you. No pressure either way."

"I'll get back to you on both." Setting the cup aside, Natalia breathed in then out. "For some time now, I've been having unsettling dreams, and though you'll deny it, I know you've been having them too. I was hoping that together we could figure out what they mean. Why I keep seeing a different version of you in these dreams when I hadn't even heard your name until three days ago."

Clint's puzzled look seemed feigned, but she knew it wasn't. Greatly overplayed, but not false. "One, how could you know the contents of my dreams? Two, what makes you think I'd be able to bring any insight to the table? And three, how could you _not_ have heard of Fallen Angels?"

It seemed like he'd tacked the last on to make her laugh though all she could muster was a sheepish smile. "My musical tastes tend more toward Tchaikovsky, Rimski-Korsakov, and Rubinstein."

"You're Russian?"

A small shrug lifted her shoulders. "I suppose you could say I have multiple citizenships."

"Cryptic yet vague and somewhat mysterious." Clint rested his right ankle on his left knee, fingering the hem of his pants leg waiting for her to continue.

Natalia snorted and smiled at his intentionally redundant remark that made him sound more like the Clint in her dreams. "As for the rest, I need very little sleep, and last night I was in the unique position of being able to make a few observations about _you_, starting with did you know you talk in your sleep?"

Again, that wry smile. "No. And that relates to the rest of it how?" Motioning for her to continue, he took a drink of coffee.

"I now know for certain that we're both reliving the same experiences because of what you said in your sleep." Natalia took a sip of her coffee and set it aside. "I believe we were meant to live very different lives, and in these other lives, we know each other better than we know ourselves."

Before he could formulate a response, Clint's phone vibrated across the table. With an apologetic shrug, he answered it. "Yeah? What?! Not a word. Haven't talked to her since…" Pushing to his feet, Clint stomped into the house and closed the sliding door with a slam. Through the glass Natalia could see him pacing angrily back and forth. The room must be soundproof because she couldn't hear what he was saying. His arm and the phone kept her from reading his lips. She didn't have far to go to find the origin of his reaction, wondering how he could've been oblivious to what was going on in his own home, the answer coming fast on the heels of that question in her head. Sighing, she quietly skirted around the side of the house, jogged across the field and hopped the fence, coming out about twenty yards from her car.

~~O~~

When the phone rang, Clint was tempted to ignore it in favor of listening to Delany explain how they could know each other when they'd only just met. But it was Coulson, and from the missed calls log, he'd been calling since very early that morning. After the night he'd spent with Delany, he'd completely forgotten to check his messages. Normally, he deleted them without reading or responding, but that wouldn't fly today, apparently. "…Slow down, Phil. I can't unders…What?! No. I told you, I haven't spoken to Alcina since the hotel…She did _what?_ That little *****! Hell, yeah she's lying! No, I didn't tell her. No reason she had to know…What? Fine! I won't answer the door or the landline…Yeah, alright. Listen, I gotta go. Someone's here and…no one you know. Hell, _I_ didn't even know her until last night…Haha! Yes, I do think it's safe to say we know each other better now."

The intercom began to ring incessantly. Someone wanted his attention and it was damned annoying. Clint hung up without saying good-bye knowing Coulson would understand. Going to the patio, he was surprised to see that Delany was gone. He hadn't heard her come inside, but with the distraction of Coulson's call, he wouldn't have. Before he looked for her, he had other business to take care of.

In the media room, he opened a hidden panel in the table behind the sofa and powered up the system. With just a few taps on the touch screen, he was presented with a real-time image of the front gate via hidden cameras. The driveway was filled with reporters, all waiting for him to come see what the noise was so they could pelt him with questions about his latest misstep. Every minute or so, someone would hit the buzzer, the harsh sound echoing through the entire house. Clint seemed to remember something he'd been told when he bought the house. Scrolling through the directory, he found what he was looking for.

Grinning evilly, he turned on the sprinklers in the front garden and watched the parasites scatter. Another tap and the security patrol was contacted. Reinforcements rolled up in force a few minutes later, the woman in the first car issuing orders for everyone to leave, backed up by two beefy men. Some did as they were told without complaint, while others tried to stand their ground. Those soulless creatures were threatened with a variety of infractions, reluctantly leaving with the others. Two officers were stationed at the gate to discourage any of them from returning. Not that it did any good, but they tried.

That taken care of, Clint went in search of his guest. "Delany?" Starting with his bedroom, he searched the house from one end to the other, but didn't find her. Nor had she left a note. His rumpled bed still bore the imprint of their night together. Probably the scent too. Though he wanted to indulge himself by smelling her pillow, he didn't have time for distractions.

Returning to the media room where he'd left the video running, he saw a familiar car pull up to the gate. Alcina flashed those pearly whites, fluttered her eyes, and showed her ID to the guard. He nodded and opened the gate. A few minutes later, she was letting herself in the front door. "Jimmy?"

_Putting this off will just prolong the agony for both of us._

Clint met Alcina in the foyer. Last night, he'd noticed that she hadn't yet removed her possessions. "I'm here, Alcina. Let's not drag this out. Just take your **** and go."

The beginnings of a smile faded as she approached him. "Oh, Jimmy. Don't be like that. I'm sorry about our little fight. I just love you so much, seeing you with that girl made me jealous. Forgive me?"

As long as he'd known Alcina, she'd used that pretty little pout to get whatever she wanted from men. Clint had never fallen for it and his opinion was that's why she'd thrown herself at him until he gave in. But now her usefulness as a bedroom playmate was over, just like her career with Fallen Angels. With her voice, she'd have another gig very soon so he wasn't worried that she would be living on the streets.

"Alcina, you and I both know that you've never loved anyone but yourself." Clint said it in a tone that would tell her he hadn't let her off the hook for this latest screw-up. "Now _get_ _out_. I'll have your stuff boxed up and shipped to your new address."

That pouty smile turned smug and overconfident in an instant. Alcina dropped her clutch purse on the coffee table as she took a seat on the sofa facing the fireplace. "You'll change your tune when you hear what I have to say. Please sit down."

"Just say it and _go_ before I have you arrested for trespassing, and breaking and entering."

Alcina's expression faltered briefly then steadied, hardening. "You wouldn't throw the mother of your child out into the street, would you?"

Shaking a finger as he moved over in front of his ex-girlfriend, Clint nodded. "You're absolutely right. I wouldn't. But you're not having _my_ baby."

"Yes, I am." She took a sheet of paper from her purse and handed it to him.

Curious, he read the document, refolded it and handed it back. "Still doesn't change the fact that it's not mine."

Angry now, Alcina shot to her feet, literally stomping her foot. "Stop _saying_ that! Of _course_ this baby is yours." Seeing that he wasn't backing down, she sighed wearily. "I know we hadn't planned on having a child so soon, but this could be a blessing in disguise."

When she tried to touch him, he backed out of her reach, repelled by her now. "You really need to learn how to listen, Alcina. It's not a _blessing_, disguised or otherwise. Not for _me_. The baby can't possibly be mine because I've had a vasectomy."

She gasped, completely taken aback by his admission. "Wh-what? When?"

"Long before I met you."

When Clint looked at her again, she was still in shock, staring at the floor with her mouth open. "I've heard they can grow back. That has to be what happened. They grew back and now we're…" Taking out his phone, Clint used his thumb to scroll his contact list. "What're you doing?"

"Calling my doctor. He'll settle this with a quick exam." While waiting for his call to be answered, Clint asked, "Out of curiosity, how far along are you?"

"Ten weeks as of today. Why?"

Into the phone, he said, "Jimmy Blue. I'm a patient of Dr. Bazhan's. Can you hold for a moment?" To Alcina he said, "There's one little detail you forgot in your attempt to force a commitment out of me. Ten weeks ago, I was recording appearances on talk shows while the rest of the group took time off. The last time you and I were together was three weeks ago. There's no way I could be the father even without the surgery." Clint wanted to laugh at the dumbfounded expression on Alcina's face, shaking his head instead. "I'm not angry about the cheating. We both made that mistake. I'm angry because you called a ****ing press conference to tell the world you're pregnant with my child and didn't even have the decency to come to me first."

"Grrr!" She snatched her purse from the table, stomped to the front door, glaring at him over her shoulder when he called her name.

"Alcina, if you need money…"

Her laugh was harsh, almost cruel. "You think _money_ will make this all better, Jimmy? Well, I don't _need_ your charity. I've already got another gig goin' with the baby's father. At least _he's_ man enough to step up."

"Why did you try to make _me_ think _I _was the father if you…" Clint didn't get to finish his thought because Alcina jerked the front door open, slamming it on her way out.

Clint turned his attention to the call to the doctor's office. "Sorry about that…No, everything's fine. If the doctor has a few minutes later this week, ask him to call me."

He hit end and tossed the phone in the chair on his way to the window that face the pool. Rubbing his hands over his face, he exhaled loudly, relieved that he'd dodged yet another metaphorical bullet. Alcina was _not_ happy that he called her bluff. It was strange how relieved he felt now that she was out of his life.

For the first time in months, he had nowhere to be right away, leaving him with plenty of time to wonder what happened to Delany. He knew it wasn't her real name, and she'd been reluctant to share that info so he hadn't pushed, even though it created an unbalanced scale between them giving her the advantage. She knew practically everything about him and he knew almost nothing about her. Not an auspicious start to their relationship.

Laughing at the absurdity of it, Clint remarked out loud, "Some relationship, Barton. You'll probably never see her again." He sat down, exhaling loudly into the empty room. "Now how the hell are you gonna find out what the dreams mean?"

No matter what he told Delany, the dreams were becoming more vivid forcing him to up his game to keep them from disturbing his peace of mind. _That's a crock, Barton! You're peace of mind's already in the toilet._

Slapping his thighs, Clint returned to his room, the long hallway making it seem like he was taking that final walk to the gas chamber. One of the reasons he spent so much time partying, whether at home or on the town, was that he hated being alone. It was also why he let Alcina stay with him even knowing he'd never make any sort of commitment to her. What had been a convenience for him Clint now saw as being cruel, getting Alcina's hopes up to the point that she was willing to let him think that the baby she was carrying belonged to him. He might've bought it too, if he hadn't made the decision not to have children and taken the steps necessary to prevent it.

He removed his T-shirt, tossing it aside as he went into the bathroom and turned on the hot water. When the steam started to fog the mirror, he splashed water on his face, squirted a generous amount of shaving cream into his hand and applied it to his chin and upper lip. He wet the razor and proceeded to divest himself of all facial hair. Coulson and his fans would ****, but he didn't care at the moment. Besides, he could grow it back any time.

Dressed again, Clint grabbed his ball cap and sunglasses, shoved his arms into the sleeves of his jacket and left by the back door, jogging across the huge yard to a shed the size of a two-car garage. He entered through the side door and a moment later, an engine roared to life. A larger door retracted, Clint gunned the engine once more and managed to burn a little rubber on his way to the far end of the property. He touched a button on the dash and shot through the gate with barely an inch to spare on either side.

With no real destination in mind, Clint got on the PCH and just drove. Hours later, he pulled into a gas station, filled the tank then went inside to get coffee. Reaching into his inside pocket for his wallet, he felt the plastic bag Dawg had given him the day before. If ever he needed a pick-me-up it was now. He paid for his drink and went into the bathroom. He came out a few minutes later and got back into his car, cell phone to his ear. "…That's what I said, Coulson. Just a formal press release to all news agencies advising that I'm not the father of Alcina's baby and the reason why…No, I don't care if the entire _world_ knows…In fact, I _want_ the world to know…Also let them know we'll be holding auditions for her replacement…Say it however you want…No, I'm not at home. I'll be out for a while…a _while_…You _don't_ want to know…Oh, and send someone take Alcina's crap out of my house. Change the locks and the gate code too. In fact, do that first…_Fine_. Come by tomorrow around noon…_Yes_, I'll be awake."

He shoved the phone into his back pocket and for the first time in hours, Clint thought about Delany, wondering if he'd ever see her again. He drove aimlessly for a long time, looking around when he stopped at a light, not at all surprised to find that he'd arrived at the hotel where Delany said she was staying. Leaving his cap and sunglasses on, Clint went to the front desk, but the agent wouldn't even tell him if she was staying there, much less what her room number was.

It was dark and the lobby clock gave the time as after nine, and a cold beer sounded better than a hot meal. Going into the lounge, he found a seat in a dim corner, ordered a Sam Adams and settled in to listen to the band. The female singer wasn't bad. Good but not good enough for Fallen Angels. And the lead guitarist's A string was slightly out of tune, grating on Clint's nerves. He thought about setting the guy straight, but he preferred to keep a low profile, so he said nothing.

Nursing his third beer, Clint stared at a spot six inches in front of his nose, so zoned out that he was startled when a delicate and graceful hand came into his line of sight. He followed the slender arm up to where it was attached to a satin smooth shoulder. One that he'd recently had intimate contact with. Above it, a pair of ruby red lips smiled.

"Would you like to dance?"

~~O~~

The grumbling of her stomach reminded Natalia she hadn't eaten since morning. Picking up the remote, she started to order room service then decided she didn't want to eat alone. Even if she sat by herself, at least she'd be in the presence of others in the bar. Besides, staying in her room seemed too much like brooding, and she never brooded unless doing so would help achieve her goal with a mark.

Downstairs, she stood in the doorway a moment before taking a seat as far from the stage as possible. A few minutes later, her order arrived, southwestern salad with cilantro lime vinaigrette-no corn, extra tomatoes-and a Paloma. The flavors didn't complement each other though she didn't care at the moment. It was fuel for her body, and the alcohol soothed her state of mind faster than a hot bath.

While she ate, her thoughts again centered on the dreams, Clint, and the strange connection they shared. They still had to talk, and if he was serious about his offer of a place to stay, taking it would give her the time she needed to convince him to talk.

She ordered another Paloma, it was delivered and as she took the first sip, the server made her way to another table in the corner. Through the dim lighting, she saw Clint trade cash for the beer, barely seeming to notice anything that was going on around him. Why was he here? Looking for her? That seemed a likely scenario because it was highly improbable that he'd come to this particular hotel by chance.

The next song, slow and melancholy, begged for her to get up and dance. Going to Clint's table, she held out her hand. "Would you like to dance?"

Clint seemed startled to see her then, he smiled. With a nod, he took her hand. "Love to."

Out on the dance floor, he held her close, but not too. Certainly not as if they were lovers and absolutely not like friends, but somewhere in between, as if he couldn't make up his mind how to treat her. Midway through the song, she whispered, "Is the offer of a room still on the table?"

"That's why I'm here. But the clerk was a butthead and wouldn't give me your room number."

"Room 703. When you're ready to go, I'll pack and check out."

He pulled her fractionally closer, a slight yet noticeable tightening of his arms, and she started to relax. Then, movement at the entrance to the bar caught her attention. Not that the comings and goings of the clientele generated much interest. It was the identity of the man and woman that alarmed her. Keeping her voice carefully neutral, Natalia leaned back to smile up at Clint. "Let's get out of here."

"Okay."

Clint took her hand, following when she tugged him toward the door that opened onto a small patio instead of going through the lobby. The gate was locked this late at night, but that wouldn't deter her. She released Clint's hand and scaled the fence, dropping lightly to the ground on the other side, motioning for him to hurry. "Let's go!"

"What the hell's going on, Delany?"

"No time. We have to go _now_, so move your ass!"

The look on Clint's face told her she'd have a lot to explain, but now wasn't the time. With more agility than she thought he possessed, Clint climbed over the fence and landed firmly next to her. "This way."

He led her to a nearly-new Porsche 911 Turbo convertible. They buckled up and were on the road within seconds, Clint shifting smoothly through the gears. He pulled onto the highway, bumping his speed up to twenty miles over the posted speed limit. All during the ride to his home, he didn't speak and she let it happen. There would be plenty of time for talk later, as long as they weren't followed and she had to fight her way out while protecting Clint from her enemies.

In Clint's neighborhood, traffic was sparse, and Natalia was relieved when they made the turn into the driveway and the gates closed them inside safely. Not that it would be a deterrent. With their abilities, nothing would keep them from getting to her if they really wanted to.

He parked the car and soon they were inside the house with the doors locked and alarms engaged. Clint divested himself of his jacket, keys, wallet and phone by laying them on the coffee table in the main living room. Natalia stood there waiting for him to say something, and it didn't take long.

"Spill it." Waving a hand, Clint indicated their speedy retreat from the hotel, holding onto his temper with difficulty. "What the _hell_ is going on? Who were they, the man and woman at the hotel? Why are you afraid of them? What are you running from?"

**TBC**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:** This is another AU of the Avengers, post movie. Many thanks to ladygris for doing the Beta services again.

**Warning:** This story includes explicit and veiled references to drug and alcohol use and abuse.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the Avengers, Marvel, Facebook, Twitter, YouTube or any other social media. If I've left anything out, aside from the OC characters-which are totally mine, I don't own them/it either. Someone else does.

Namaste,

Sandy

How cruelly sweet are the echoes that start,

When memory plays an old tune on the heart.

~Eliza Cook

**Avengers**

**Echoes**

**Chapter 5**

Clint stopped his tirade to take a breath managing to at least _sound_ calm. "And who _are_ you?"

"Clint…"

"No crap this time. The truth."

Her mouth set in a hard line, Delany leveled her gaze at him. "It doesn't matter. None of it matters." She waved back and forth between them. "We aren't who we're supposed to be."

On the verge of losing his patience, Clint took off down the hall with Delany behind him. In the bar, he took out a bottle of Stolichnaya Gold and two glasses. "Then who the hell are we? Tell me that."

Clint splashed several fingers of the clear liquid into the glasses and pushed one across the bar for her. Natalia picked it up, and out of habit said, "_Za vashe zdorovie._"

In response, he said, "_Spasibo_" and drank the contents. He'd already poured himself another round and was holding the bottle out to top off Delany's glass when he noticed the strange look on her face. "What?"

Delany stared at him, her eyebrows drawn together over her nose, glass held out. "Nothing." She inhaled deeply, knocked back the second drink, and nodding when he offered a third. "Should I start with the backstory for _this_ version of me?"

"That'll work." Grabbing the bottle, Clint came around the bar, motioning for her to follow him into the media room. He wanted to be close to her again, but he didn't. To keep from doing something stupid, he dropped into one of the deep armchairs forcing Delany to take the sofa or the chair next to him. She chose the sofa, curling her legs under after removing her sneakers.

When she was comfortable, Delany said, "As long as its _quid pro quo_."

Reluctantly, Clint agreed, motioning for her to continue.

"_Ab inito_…From the top then." Setting the glass aside, she clasped her hands together. "The name is Natalia Romanova. I was born in Stalingrad. I had three brothers, the oldest was Aleksander. Nikolai and Yuri were both younger. They all joined the military and died."

"What about your parents? They still around?" Natalia…he tried the name out in his head.

Thick lashes brushed her cheeks. "I don't know. We haven't spoken since I was seven." She stopped, obviously expecting him to prod her to continue, but he just let her speak at her own speed. "Dr. Ivan Petrovitch, the head of a government-run research facility, paid my parents a monthly allowance to let me be a part of his research. The only condition was that they were never to try to see me. Then, when I left the facility, I didn't want to see them so I stayed away."

"How long ago was that?"

She chuckled humorously, getting to her feet and going to stand at the glass doors that looked out over the pool and meditation garden. "Too long. What the doctors did to us there…I couldn't allow it to continue so one night, we left. We went to the train station and boarded the first train out of the city. What they didn't know was that I returned to the facility where I killed the staff and blew up the buildings. In all these years, I've not felt even one moment of remorse for my actions."

Shocked at Natalia's admission and not wanting to show it, Clint took another drink and she started speaking again.

"In addition to being experimented on, Petrovitch oversaw intensive physical and mental training which included brainwashing. At one time, I was conditioned to believe that I was a ballerina." To illustrate, she performed a pirouette and a petite jeté, ending with her feet in the fifth position and a small curtsy. "Before the age of sixteen, I became an expert in a variety of weapons and martial arts, as well as infiltration, exfiltration…and seduction." She chuckled, glancing over her shoulder then back out the window. "You're the first man who didn't fall for my charms. Strangely enough, the other you, the one in my dreams, is the same. The first time we met, he saw right through my attempts to lure him into my web, just as you did."

Though he'd planned on listening and not interrupting with endless questions, Clint couldn't help asking, "Web? That's an odd way of putting it."

Her footsteps silent on the thick carpeting, Natalia finally faced him again. "Not really. In certain circles I'm known as the Black Widow."

"What do you do? Besides kill people and seduce men?"

"I guess you could say I'm a freelance adventurer. The people in the bar? The man is Fury and the woman is Hill. We're in the same business and they're trying to remove me from the equation to leave the path open for themselves. And for the record, I'm not _afraid_ of them. I'm simply trying to stay alive long enough to fix everything. Put it back the way it's supposed to be."

~~O~~

While Clint absorbed everything she told him, Natalia wandered around the room, touching the knick-knacks and examining the art as if she were an art patron about to make a purchase. While the pieces were high quality, nearly all of them were fakes. Very well-done reproductions. This Clint probably didn't know the difference between a da Vinci and a Ducati. However, give him the name of a recording artist and he'd probably be able to list that person or group's top singles along with the year they were recorded.

She returned to her seat, stretching her legs out to the side with her knees slightly bent, giving the appearance of serenity. Picking up her glass, she finished off the vodka. Across from her, Clint did the same then sat back in his chair, his right elbow on the arm and his head leaning against the knuckles. He briefly struggled with a smile, eventually giving up and letting it happen. "So the training in seduction. Is that where you learned how to do that thing with the ice cubes?"

Though she too fought against it, Natalia laughed out loud. "Self-taught."

Clint rested the ankle of one leg on the knee of the other, again fingering the hem of his jeans. "You already know most of my backstory. The only thing you seem to have missed is the estrangement from my family. My father was a mean drunk. Still is. He beat the crap out all of us, my mother, my brother, and me for as long as I can remember. Mom did nothing to stop it. Barney joined the army the day he turned eighteen. When he got out, he continued his education at college and was eventually recruited by the FBI. The rest of that little side story, you already know.

"I turned fourteen a year after Barney left and I was accepted into Julliard a few months later. I took the scholarship and ran as fast as I could, and I've been running ever since. When you spend so much time trying to get away from your past, you need something to give you a boost. After a while, you need more and more to get the same results. I always thought Barney would be the one to make something of himself, but it's genetic. My grandfather and great-grandfather were drunks too. The Bartons are a whole family of losers."

He stopped talking and Natalia looked over at him, seeing the embarrassment he felt at baring his soul to someone he hardly knew. She'd come to terms with her life a long time ago, only regretting some of the things she'd been forced to do to get by. After a while, it became a habit and habits are hard to break. Most people needed assistance to do so. Some needed more than others whether it was a support system or something more along the lines of intervention and/or rehab. Clint came under that last category, as did she, the ones that needed outside help. For Clint to get that help he would first have to admit that he had a problem-which he'd just done. Then, he would have to accept that he couldn't make the necessary changes alone. Achieving those tasks would be problematic. But then, nothing about their relationship was simple. An internal smirk appeared in her brain alongside the word sex. The sex between them was intense and utterly satisfying every time.

Without looking at her, Clint got to his feet and headed in the direction of the bedrooms. Natalia followed, knowing it was too early to delve deeper into what they'd spoken about tonight. She would do him the courtesy of not bringing it up until he had time to process. However, there still remained the issue of the dreams. After he had a good night's sleep, perhaps they could talk about it over breakfast.

As they passed doors, Clint reached inside and turned on the lights. "This one faces the pool, this one opens into the meditation garden, that one has a lovely view of the neighbor's horse pasture, good ol' number four faces the back garden and tennis and basketball courts. There's a workout room, if you'd like to use it. Not sure where it is. I'll get you something to sleep in."

Natalia waited in the hall until Clint came back with a pair of pajama pants and a T-shirt, both way too big. She took them with a smile of thanks, standing there until he'd gone into his room before choosing the one facing the meditation garden. Earlier, he'd given her the option of taking a room for herself or sharing his, but by his actions, he'd rescinded that half of the offer.

With the door ajar, Natalia could hear Clint moving around the room. It also helped that she'd taken the one closest to his. He went into the bathroom, and when he came out, she heard sniffling of the sort that came from the use recreational drugs. Everyone copes with traumatic events in their lives differently, and as much as she hated to admit it, drugs were Clint's choice.

The bed creaked as he lay down, shifting around until he was comfortable. Natalia could picture him in a T-shirt and pajama pants similar to what he'd given her, lying on his back with his hands clasped behind his head and staring at the ceiling. She knew that's what he was doing because she was doing it too.

She was tired, physically and mentally, but her brain wouldn't stop telling her to listen for him to fall asleep before doing so herself. It was a trust thing. After a while, she heard his snores drifting down the hall, and with a sigh of relief, she let herself begin to relax.

The dream started almost immediately after she fell asleep, this one much worse than the others. In her dream she was called by the Americanized version of her name, Natasha. They were in a lab arguing when there was an explosion. She and one of the scientists, a man by the name of Bruce Banner, had fallen through a hole in the floor. They were bruised and battered, but not seriously hurt though her foot was pinned under some of the debris.

_Lying near her, Bruce was moaning, the pain so great that there were no words to describe it. He pushed to his hands and knees then to his feet, stumbling sideways to fall against some equipment. "D__r. Banner…Bruce, you gotta fight it. This is just what Loki wants. We're gonna be okay. Listen to me. We're gonna be okay, right? I swear on my __life__ I will get you out of this! You will walk away and never…"_

"_Your life?!"_

_Bruce turns toward her, his skin having taken on a greenish cast, the muscles under his clothes increasing in size, tearing the cloth as if it were nothing. Horrified, she watched him transform from a mild mannered scientist with a charmingly soft-spoken voice and a kind smile into a giant hulking green monster that chased her through the ship._

Just as the creature reached for her Natalia sat up in bed holding in a scream and shaking like a leaf. Panting from the flood of adrenaline being pumped into her bloodstream, she threw back the covers and went down the hall to the bar. She splashed a measure of the liquor into a glass and drank it down. Refilling the glass, she carried it back to the bedroom and set it on the table. Sitting on the side of the bed, she gripped a handful of hair, squeezing and releasing. She didn't know why, but that action sometimes helped calm her when the nightmares became too much for her.

Deciding that sleep was a lost cause, Natalia decided to take Clint up on his offer of the gym. The small amount of light that filtered through the blinds was more than enough for her to see by as she stepped into the hall. She'd only gone a few steps when she heard Clint calling out in his sleep. Unlike the night before, his dreams appeared to be just as unpleasant at hers.

She tiptoed down to his room using her hand to slowly push the door open just far enough to slip inside then softly closed it behind her. Clint's legs were moving restlessly, the covers having been kicked to the foot of the bed. His head twisted side to side and a pinched expression on his face along with the slight sheen of perspiration completed a heartbreaking scene.

Not sure if she should wake him, Natalia knelt beside the bed, remembering something her mother had done. It couldn't hurt to try. Reaching out with her left hand, she brushed a few locks of hair from his forehead. It seemed to be helping so she continued stroking the side of his head, alternating with light touches on his cheeks. Reaching deep into her memory, she pulled out a sweet melody mothers sang to their children at bedtime.

Eventually, the restlessness stilled, his features smoothed and his breathing became shallow and even. Getting to her feet, she started to return to her room when Clint grabbed her hand. He didn't wake, but he also wouldn't let go when she tugged. Letting him keep hold of her hand, Natalia pressed one knee into the edge of the mattress, the other knee coming and over to rest on his other side. A wry smile appeared as she pictured Clint awakening to find the two of them in such an intimate position. Would he be upset or would he-and this was the more likely scenario-take her up on the supposed offer? She picked up the first knee, grasped the edge of the covers and lay down, pulling them up to her chest and tucking them around Clint.

Clint finally released her hand and rolled onto his side facing the door. She took that as an invitation for more intimate contact, accepting the silent offer by snuggling against his back and slipping her arm over his ribs, her hand coming to rest on his stomach. In his sleep, Clint's hand again found hers.

Not having been in any sort of long-term romantic relationship, or not one that didn't end in betrayal on her part, Natalia lay there in the dark listening to Clint breath, wondering if this was what it was like to have someone who knew all about you and loved you anyway. Not that their relationship was based on love or anything more than mutual attraction. It was, however, something to think about.

~~O~~

Clint awoke to the blaring of the alarm clock. He reached over to slap the snooze button, hitting his phone and knocking it to the floor along with his cigarettes, lighter and the lamp. The crash brought him fully awake. Yawning and scratching his stomach through his T-shirt, Clint found the clock and silenced it, resisting the urge to use a bat on it.

Something tickled at his memory. He stood in the middle of his room trying to figure it out. With a shrug, he went into the bathroom to empty his bladder. Stuck on the wall above the toilet was a note.

_Clint,_

_I'm in the gym. There's coffee in the kitchen. Come find me when you're ready to eat. We still have things to talk about._

_Natalia_

After washing his hands, Clint took the note and carried it with him to the kitchen. Taking out a huge mug, he poured himself a cup, drinking it while leaning against the counter. With the infusion of caffeine, his brain started working again and he remembered the dream. He also remembered what happened afterward. Natalia had come into his room to comfort him, crawling into bed and just holding him while he slept. Why would she do such a thing? Sure, they'd had phenomenal sex the night before, but beyond that they had very little in common aside from the strange dreams. How would someone he barely knew know that he needed comfort?

He poured a second cup of coffee carrying both out into the hall trying to remember where the gym was, recalling there was a door off the game room that he hadn't opened since he moved in. As he got closer, he heard the clang of metal on metal. It stopped just as he reached the step up to the billiard table.

Thinking she would be coming out, he waited. When she didn't appear, he opened the door, coming to a halt and staring. Natalia was on the mat performing what looked appeared to be a fighting routine similar to those he'd seen martial artists do. Her movements were graceful and at the same time powerful. Clint could easily see her subduing opponents much larger than herself, which led him to wonder why she hadn't tried to get away the other night when he had her trapped. A moment after the thought occurred, he mentally smacked himself in the head. She _let_ him take the initiative in their encounter. If it hadn't been something she wanted, he'd have been dead or at least incapacitated.

He also realized that she'd been seducing him from the moment they met at the hotel, to use a loose interpretation of the word. That didn't mean she hadn't been telling the truth. Natalia, Delany, whatever her name was, truly believed everything she'd been saying. Did that make her delusional? Just plain crazy? Or was she simply mistaken in her interpretation of the dreams? Clint shook his head. If that were true, then why were they having the _same_ dream? She'd come to comfort him during the night, but was that all it was? Had she been in need of comfort as well?

Time to find out.

"Hey." Clint knew she heard him, but she continued her routine to its natural conclusion. At the edge of the mat, she bowed as if to an opponent and accepted the cup he handed her. "Very impressive. Think you could teach me?"

Setting the cup aside, Natalia used a towel to blot the perspiration from her neck and above the collar of the same T-shirt he'd given her to sleep in. The only clothes she had were what she'd been wearing when they fled the hotel. He thought about asking Jared to bring her a selection from his current line, but sensed it would be an insult to offer to foot the bill. Holding the towel in one hand, she picked up the cup and Clint stood out of the way so she could step out of the room, following her toward the kitchen. "You already know. Or rather the other you does."

He ignored her not so subtle hint regarding the dreams as he went to the refrigerator. "After that workout, you're probably hungry. Maria hasn't been to the store yet this week so there isn't much. I could make us an omelet and some toast." Slamming the door, he faced her again. "You need clothes too, so maybe we should go out. If you want to, that is."

"Out is good. Something fast and simple."

"Drive-thru it is."

Tugging the damp cotton away from her stomach, she fluttered the material to move the air around. "I'll get a shower first then we can go."

Clint thought about his next move for less than a millisecond. Taking Natalia's hand, he led her down the hall, through his bedroom and into the bathroom where he started the hot water in the bathtub that was also a Jacuzzi. Opening one of the cabinets under the sink, he located a bottle of scented bubble bath that Alcina had left behind. He bought it for her months ago, and though she said she liked it, she only used it once with the excuse that it made her skin feel "yucky." Her word, not his.

When he turned around, he half expected Natalia to be gone, but she hadn't moved from where he left her standing in the middle of the room. He went to her, slowly removed her clothes then led her to the tub. As she sank into the hot and fragrant water, Clint got undressed himself and joined her, sitting with his back against the opposite side waiting to see what she would do.

She ducked under the water and came back up pushing the foam and hair from her face. More of the lavender scented foam lay on Natalia's shoulders, one such spot slowly slid over her collar bone, coming to rest on the upper curve of her left breast. The water had darkened her lashes and drops clung to them like dew. She moved her arms out to the sides and back along the surface of the water, a smile of invitation on her soft lips.

They met in the middle, hands skimming over each other's skin as she lifted her head so that their lips could touch. He wondered briefly if their physical attraction was real or if she'd tailored her approach to him in order to capture his attention. They kissed again and the last coherent thought Clint had was _who cares?_

~~O~~

Coulson brought Lola to a smooth stop behind Clint's Porsche which, for once, was parked on the concrete and not half in the grass as it usually was. Tossing his keys and catching them as he walked to the door, Coulson hoped that this would be the one time when he didn't have to drag Clint's ass out of bed so he'd get where he had to be and on time.

He pressed the doorbell, but didn't hear the chimes ringing in response. Knocking did no good either, so Coulson used the spare key he'd had made when the locksmith had been here the day before. "Clint?"

Unlike the other day, the house was spotless and empty, Coulson breathing a sigh of relief that Clint hadn't had another of his impromptu parties. He also didn't hear music or the television. Meaning that his friend was probably still asleep. Good thing he'd come a little early.

As Coulson neared Clint's room, the faint sound of a woman giggling mixed with the deeper tones of a man wafted out through the bedroom door left standing open. The giggling morphed into a scream that ended in laughter. _He's back with Alcina after less than twenty-four hours? Even for them, it's a record._

Coulson knocked on the bathroom door, which was thankfully closed. The laughter and voices cut off abruptly. "Clint?"

Splashing and the murmur of voices reached him, but he couldn't understand what they were saying. Coulson took a step back when the door was flung open and Clint stood there having just wrapped a towel around his hips. "Is it noon already?"

"It's actually a little closer to eleven…" Coulson's voice trailed off when a very attractive blonde wearing nothing but a towel came to stand next to Clint in the doorway. Clint's arm snaked around her waist to pull her close as he leaned down to give her a kiss. She gave Coulson a friendly smile as she sashayed out the door and down the hall. The door slammed, and Coulson turned his attention back to Clint, aiming a thumb over his shoulder. "…thirty. Who the hell is _that?_"

Clint went to the dresser to pull out boxers and socks. "_That_ is the woman from the hotel. The one I told you about." With a sheepish grin, the musician went into the walk-in closet. "We, uh, kinda hit off."

"I'll say. How did the two of you…"

"Hook up?" For once, Clint stayed in the closet to change, his voice slightly muffled. "She broke into the house that same night, and we spent the rest of the night…"

"Interrogating each other? What do you even _know_ about her?"

Clint came out carrying a pair of boots and his jacket. "Everything I need to, Coulson." He sat on the sofa in the small sitting area near the window. "We were about to go get something to eat."

Hands in his pockets, Coulson chose, for the moment, to ignore the fact that his friend and client had hooked up with some mysterious woman within hours of his break-up with Alcina. "You have an interview with Lena Faminucci today. Or did you forget that along with your common sense?"

"Didn't forget. Don't wanna do it."

"We've been over this before. Lena pulls a lot of weight in the industry. A few words in the right ear and your career will be in the ****ing toilet, and you wouldn't be able to give away that new CD coming out in a couple of months." Coulson poked Clint in the chest. "You're going to that interview. You're going to smile and answer all her questions to the best of your ability. Got it?"

"Okay, okay. I'll be my usual charming self."

"That's just what I _don't_ want you to do. She'll ask about Alcina's press conference and our press release. Be nice and don't say anything that would give your ex-girlfriend a reason to sic a pack of voracious lawyers on us."

Going to the dresser, Clint ran a comb through his hair. He also put on his watch, wristbands and rings, and stuck diamond studs in each ear. "Do we at least have time to eat?"

Grabbing Clint's jacket, Coulson picked up his phone, cigarettes and lighter from the floor, sticking them in the left front pocket before handing it to his friend. "Yes, if it's quick. Wait. You're not taking her with you?"

Clint snorted. "Why not?"

"Because not two days ago, you broke-up with your girlfriend, kicked her out of the group, had all the locks changed and you're already with someone new? The press will have field day, and not in the good way."

~~O~~

In the mirror, Clint grinned. "Just make sure they spell my name right." He took the jacket from Coulson's lax grip and left the room, rapping his knuckles on the only closed bedroom door. "Yo, Nat! Ready to go?"

The door whipped open on Natalia's annoyed expression. "Don't _call_ me that."

"Fine. Ready?"

"Yes."

Natalia stepped into the hall and closed the door, Coulson coming up beside her as the trio headed for the front of the house. Coulson held out his hand and Natalia took it. "We haven't met. I'm Clint's manager, Phil Coulson."

"Delany O'Brien."

"And what exactly do you do, Ms. O'Brien?"

Clint scooped his keys from the end table in the living room, responding before Natalia, "She's my new personal trainer." He closed and locked the front door, making certain that the alarm was set while Coulson told the guard at the gate to get rid of the reporters still hanging around. Leading Natalia to the Porsche, he handed her into the passenger seat, slammed the door then got in himself.

Twenty minutes later, Coulson, Clint and Natalia got out of the elevator on the twenty-fourth floor of the bustling offices for ZNN news. At the reception desk, Coulson removed his sunglasses and gave the young man an unfriendly smile. "Phill Coulson and Jimmy Blue to see Lena Faminucci."

"This way please."

The trio followed the receptionist down a long hallway, stopping in front of a door that looked just like all the other doors except that it had the name Lena Faminucci painted in fancy script. Without knocking, he opened the door and ushered them in. "He's here, Lena."

"Send him in." To her guests, she said, "Coffee? Roy, bring everyone coffee and some of those fat free muffins."

The door closed behind them, Lena shaking hands with Clint and Coulson, seeming to ignore Natalia. Clint didn't like it, but that's how it was in this business. He sat on the sofa, expecting Natalia join him, but it was Coulson who took that spot with Natalia taking the armchair. The first thing he'd noticed about her was her confidence and allure. But now, that all seemed to be gone. It was odd how all the sudden, she seemed almost invisible. Was she purposely trying to go unnoticed? Well, it was working.

Roy returned with cups for everyone, even Natalia, and that's when Lena noticed her. "Jimmy, darling, who's your friend?"

"Natasha, meet ZNN's entertainment reporter, Lena Faminucci. Lena, Natasha is my new…" Clint wasn't certain what to call her. Girlfriend? Lover? Partner in a shared delusion? All that would do is get his face and hers out there in the public eye. "…spiritual advisor and personal trainer."

Lena reached over to shake Natalia's hand. "Pleasure to meet you, dear."

Before Natalia could do more than open her mouth, Clint said, "I am so sorry, Lena. I should've mentioned that Natasha is Russian and doesn't speak a word of English."

Without missing a beat, Natalia smiled at the reporter. "_Prijatno poznakomit'sa, Lena_."

Inside his head, Clint heard the translation as "Pleased to meet you, Lena" at the same time that Lena began speaking to Natalia in the same language. How he knew what they were saying shocked him though not as much as finding out that Lena also spoke Russian. He turned to express his shock to Coulson who was staring openmouthed at the women. Coulson turned to look at him, and just to test the theory that popped into his head, Clint said, "_Ty govoriš' po-russki?_"

To which Coulson replied while pinching a centimeter of air, "_Da, nemnogo._"

Continuing in the same language, Clint asked, "What the hell is going on, Coulson?"

With a shrug that was at once casual and tense, Coulson replied, "I have no _****ing_ idea."

**TBC**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:** This is another AU of the Avengers, post movie. Many thanks to ladygris for doing the Beta services again.

**Warning:** This story includes explicit and veiled references to drug and alcohol use and abuse.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the Avengers, Marvel, Facebook, Twitter, YouTube or any other social media. If I've left anything out, aside from the OC characters-which are totally mine, I don't own them/it either. Someone else does.

**Note:** Ladygris also wrote the lyrics to the song below, "Find My Way." We're trying to set it to music so wish us luck.

Namaste,

Sandy

How cruelly sweet are the echoes that start,

When memory plays an old tune on the heart.

~Eliza Cook

**Avengers**

**Echoes**

**Chapter 6**

When the interview was over, Coulson, Clint and Natalia were escorted to the elevator by the ever-efficient Roy, the trio not speaking until they reached the lobby. Leaning close and keeping his voice low, Clint said, "I don't know what's going on here, but we need answers."

Natalia's sculpted eyebrows drew together in confusion. "We?"

"Yeah. While you were talking to Lena…" Clint paused, one hand rubbing the back of his head, "…Coulson and I understood every word."

"_Ya ne ponimayu._"

Touching Natalia on the arm, Coulson answered for both men, still in Russian, "Neither do _we_. Hell, I've never even _been_ to Russia. How could I possibly speak the language?"

Sharing a meaningful glance with Natalia, Clint nodded. In English, he said, "If you think that's weird, wait until you hear the rest. Look, Coulson, we've got places to go, but come to the house tonight. We'll talk."

Coulson huffed at him. "Clint, do you have _any_ idea what today is?"

"It's Tuesday."

"More than that, it's Tuesday the _fifteenth_. Filming of the Platinum Guild Awards is tonight and you're scheduled to be a presenter with Sterling Rivers."

All of Clint's carefully made plans with Natalia went up in smoke. "****! And now I don't have a date. If I show up alone, the tabloids will report that I didn't bring a date because my heart was broken by my break-up with Alcina."

Surprising both men, Natalia said, "I'll go. Just need a dress, shoes, jewelry, hair, make-up."

With a smile he didn't feel, Coulson waved them forward when Clint's car was pulled under the porte-cochère and the valet opened the passenger door. "Problem solved. Just remember what I said earlier about speaking to the press. Nothing about…anything. And that other thing, we'll talk about it tomorrow when you've slept off the after party." He peered closer at Clint. "You shaved your beard."

"And you just now noticed?" Clint snorted and waved as he drove out into traffic. At the light, he tapped the GPS until he came to the stored address he wanted. Again, Natalia was quiet, making him wonder if he'd said something stupid again. "You okay?"

"Of course. I need to do some shopping."

"Got it covered. I know a guy." They drove on for a while then, Clint broached the subject on both their minds: his and Coulson's fluency in Russian. "How could we…"

Clint glanced over at her then back to the road. Natalia shifted in her seat until she could see him in profile. "I don't _know_, Clint. That's something we can work out tomorrow. Hopefully."

He nodded, still unsure if he really wanted to know the answers. Signaling, he turned into the parking lot of an upscale studio, Fabrizia Clothing Designs. As Clint and Natalia walked toward the door, Clint said, "One word of warning. Jared can be a little, um, over the top."

Taking his hand, Natalia gave it a quick squeeze and released. "I like over the top."

Just then the door opened and a tall blonde man rushed out to wrap Clint in a bone crushing hug. "Oh. My. Gawd! Clint, boobala! I was going to call you after that little fiasco with you-know-who, but didn't dare. I can't _believe_ what that little tartlet tried to _do_ to you. It's a good thing she's gone. Now you can go looking for your soulmate."

"Told you I don't believe in that crap, Jared." Clint let his friend steer him inside still chattering away. A glance over his shoulder at Natalia said, "Told you so." She just smiled back and followed them into the studio. When Jared finally stopped for a breath, Clint pulled Natalia forward. "Jared, this is my friend Delany. She's my date for the banquet tonight."

The designer gasped and slapped a hand to his cheek. Eyes very wide, he walked around Natalia twice, coming to a stop in front of her. "Wher_ever_ did you find her, boobala? She is _exquisite!"_

"_She_ found _me_."

"She's also _waaaay_ out of your league."

Chuckling, Clint said, "We're in a hurry and she needs the works. Put it on my tab."

But Jared barely heard him as he motioned for Natalia to do a spin, which she did. "Go get yourself put together, boobala, and I'll take care of this _gorgeous_ creature of whom you are _so_ not worthy."

Taking Natalia by the hand, Jared drew her toward the dressing rooms issuing orders as he went. Shaking his head and grinning, Clint returned to the car and headed for home.

~~O~~

Jared was already hard at work when the front door of the studio closed behind Clint. And just as he'd told Natalia, Jared was indeed over the top, but in a good way. The man was open and honest about everything, and he loved to gossip about his friends, celebrity and non-celebrity alike. All were fair game as far as Jared was concerned. The only people he seemed to actively dislike were the ones that his friends were on the outs with that week.

He had Natalia stand on a dais in the middle of a huge dressing room while he again walked around her, this time saying, "Hmm" and "Uh-_huh_" in a tone that gave nothing away. "How much do you weigh, darling?"

Natalia thought for a moment, "Um, one oh six." In response, Jared jammed his fists into his hips and mock glared an "Oh, really?" Natalia thought _Oh, he's __good_. "Okay, a buck fifteen."

"That's more like it." He turned to whisper to his assistants, sending them scattering in all directions. One stayed, bringing a chair for her to sit in. Jared tilted her chin up with his right hand, turning her head side to side. When done, he moved around behind her and started running his fingers through her hair. "Oh, girl. You are _not_ a natural blonde."

"No, I'm not. Is that a problem?"

Jared snapped his fingers and the remaining assistant scurried from the room just as two more came in with a variety of evening gowns, all of them beautifully made and in colors that would suit her skin and hair. The last assistant returned, merely nodding. "We'll choose a dress then, while the alterations are being made you'll get hair, mani-pedi, and make-up. First and foremost, you are going back to your natural hair color."

"I'm game for whatever you have in mind, Jared."

"Good, because when I'm done, you'll be so yummy that Clint will eat you up." His eyebrows wiggled to go with his cheeky grin. "If he hasn't already. But I digress." He snatched up a lacy dress in purple with a short train. Natalia thought it beautiful, but it wouldn't go with her natural hair color if, as he threatened, she went back to it. "Oh, for the love of…take these away. Take them _all_ away, and bring the one hanging in my office. You know the one I mean." He gestured at the dresses hanging on the wall. The woman gathered them in her arms and rushed from the room.

"Do I get _any_ say whatsoever in this?"

"None at all, darling." Going to an antique cabinet against the far wall, Jared started going through the jewelry. With her trained eye, Natalia guessed the worth of the contents at a million five conservatively.

"Will there be a thigh-high slit in the side?"

Jared made a sound indicative of scorn. "Absolutely not! Girl, you are _not_ Angelia Jolie. You don't have to show off your legs to capture a man's attention. Everyone will know you're beautiful because of your self-confidence and poise, _and_ by the way Clint looks at you. You _know_ what I'm talking about, girl, so don't try to play me."

"Wouldn't dare." The assistant who had been sent to the office returned, and Natalia's jaw dropped open at the sight of the gown, standing when told to by Jared.

"Go put this on."

He carefully draped the garment over her outstretched arms. Natalia went into the dressing room and closed the curtain thinking that Jared had a wonderful eye when it came to fashion. She got out of her black top, pants and flats, stepped into the dress and carefully slid it up to her chest. The female assistant came in to do up the back then left again without a word. Standing in front of the mirror, she adjusted the off-the-shoulder straps. The portrait neckline called for a strapless bra, which she didn't have at the moment. "I'm coming out. Ready?"

"Always, darling."

The tone of Jared's voice seemed to have a double meaning, making her smile. Parting the curtains, she lifted the too long hem high enough to walk without tripping, going straight to the dais again. The gown was snug down to her hips, turning into a flared mermaid skirt and a sweep train that wasn't too long. The straps were speckled with black stones that caught the light, reflecting it back. "What do you think?"

Jared tugged and pinched and poked and yanked until he was satisfied. "It needs taking in just a bit in the waist. The length will be fine once we get you into heels, darling." Stepping onto the dais, he moved around behind her, reached over her shoulders and down the front of the dress to lift her breasts, moving them around until he was satisfied. Natalia wanted to laugh at the clinical attitude he displayed while doing it, but didn't.

In front of her again, he made a gesture that, had it come from a straight man, would've been considered rude. From Jared, it was amusing. "You won't need a bra, darling. Those perky little ta-tas of yours are perfect just the way they are." On an antique table to the right, Jared had already laid out the accessories he'd chosen, and though her fingers itched to touch the smooth stones, Jared didn't give her the chance. "Take it off. Amelia will escort you to the spa while we do the alterations."

He pushed her into the dressing room and closed the curtains. As she changed again, Jared could be heard ordering her spa treatments, down to and including the color of polish for her fingers and toes as well as the style, height and size of shoes. Grinning, she hung up the dress and followed the female assistant to the salon where she was immediately set upon by a team of three.

Back at Clint's house, Natalia's phone vibrated on the bedside table and stopped, the screen showing a slew of missed calls, texts and emails, all from the same blocked number. Someone was desperately trying to get in touch with her.

~~O~~

Standing in front of the dresser, Clint checked that his cufflinks were in place then slipped into the jacket of his tux before putting on the same watch he wore every day, the IWC Pilot's Chronograph. Jared would have a fit, but too bad. He didn't feel like digging his Rolex out. Likewise his platinum diamond ring that Jared insisted he just had to have. Naturally, the designer received a commission for the sale-standard practice in the industry, and Clint didn't begrudge his friend the money he made. Clint also left out the diamond stud earrings he usually wore for no other reason than he didn't want to wear them tonight.

The door chimed, and Clint grabbed his wallet, shoving it into the inside breast pocket of his tux jacket. On his way to the front of the house, he heard a noise coming from the room Natalia had taken the previous night. Her phone had fallen off the bedside table. Picking it up, he noticed she had a large number of missed calls. He put the phone with his wallet to keep it company and reached the living room in time to hear his housekeeper, Maria, telling the limo driver that he'd be out momentarily. Clint gave the matronly woman a smile of thanks as he went out the door. The driver already had the limo's back door open. He tipped his hat. "Good evening, sir."

"To you too, John. We need to pick up my date. Fabrizia Clothing Design on Montgomery."

"Of course." Just before closing the door, John reminded him, "Buckle up, Mr. Blue."

As the long black vehicle reached the gate, Clint's phone beeped to let him know he'd received a text from Jared. _Your girl is ready and waiting, boobala._

Clint texted back, _On the way _and ignored all further communication until he received a phone call from the Guild president. In less than twenty minutes, they reached Jared's studio. Not waiting for John to open the door, Clint got out and went inside. Jared, wearing a casual chic style, looked smug as Natalia came from the back. Feeling his jaw drop, Clint tried to close his mouth as he arranged his features to indicate approval.

The black material of her gown covered much while revealing just enough. The neckline emphasized her collarbones and shoulders as well as her ample breasts. Her neck was encircled by a platinum necklace with pink, blue and green gems that shimmered as she moved. Matching earrings dangled from her ears.

In heels, the top of her head was nearly even with his so that he only had to tilt his chin down a fraction of an inch to be able to look directly into her eyes. From the first moment he saw Natalia, Clint thought she was beautiful. Now though, with her blonde hair replaced by a deep auburn, he didn't think there was a word that would do her justice. If she was trying to keep a low profile, this was the wrong way to go about it. However, there was nothing they could do now. She had already accepted and it was too late to find another date. Clint _had_ to be at the banquet tonight _with a date_, and not just because he was a presenter. He'd gotten a call before getting into the shower asking him to sub for another performer who had to back out at the last moment.

"You look amazing," he told Natalia when his voice returned. Clint offered his left arm and she wrapped her fingers around the elbow with a smile. He held the door for her, and as she moved past him to go out, Clint flashed a smile at Jared in appreciation.

John was there to hand Natalia into the back seat, Clint climbed in after her and soon they were on their way. "I got a call earlier. One of the performers had to drop out literally at the last second and they've asked me to step in."

"Oh? Why weren't you asked to perform originally?"

"I was. Coulson turned it down without asking because of tension between Logan Carter and myself. Carter had already accepted and Coulson didn't want to cause problems."

Natalia nodded understanding. "Who had to drop out?"

"Zoe Genesis." Clint looked sideways at her waiting for the inevitable question, but it didn't come.

"What happened?"

He wanted to laugh, but at the same time, it wasn't funny. "They were rehearsing, not really doing anything strenuous, just sitting on stools singing, and her water broke." Pressing her lips together to keep from laughing, Natalia shook her head. "We have to change the song though, for two reasons. One, it's a love song, and I am _not_ singing a love song with another dude. And two…"

Understanding shown in her eyes, but without humor. "I remember reading about the feud. When…well, when all this other business started, I did some research. How did it start?"

Heaving a long sigh that Clint hoped indicated he didn't want to talk about it, he looked away for a moment, his elbow on the armrest and a hand to his mouth, deep in thought. Finally, he faced her again. "It was a misunderstanding. Long story short, insults, name calling, bar fight, a broken pool cue, nose, and foot. His nose, my foot. It's been war ever since."

She reached over and took his hand. "You could be the bigger man and make a public apology."

Clint pulled free from her grasp and looked down at his hands, rubbing them together. It was a nervous habit when he felt embarrassed, vulnerable or exposed emotionally. This time it was embarrassment. "There _is_ no feud. Not really. We're actually really good friends. The fight got _way_ more attention than it deserved spawning a media frenzy. Turned out our little brawl was great for publicity. We both received more requests to make guest appearances than we could ever accept. Plus, venues that had passed on concerts were now begging to be added to our tours." The look on Natalia's face was priceless. Part shock and part impressed. "Still not doing a love song with him."

"What about the song you just wrote? Everyone will love it."

Clint shook his head. "Still needs a bass line, drums, maybe a little sax. I need to replace Alcina for the back-up."

Still holding his hand, she squeezed again. "Do it the way you did it for me. Sometimes simple is best."

He wanted to say no, but then he thought maybe she was right. His thoughts were interrupted by the driver. "Almost there, Mr. Blue. Lotsa paparazzi. Just like always."

"Thanks, John." To Natalia, he said, "You ready to have your picture taken with me and be talked about for months?"

Smiling, Natalia nodded. "I am."

~~O~~

Sitting at her desk in the tiny room she called her office, Maria Hill removed the eye patch to examine herself in the mirror. The work done by the surgeon was exceptional and she had no complaints aside from the fact that they hadn't been able to save her eye. She could've gone without the patch, but wearing it gave her an advantage over the lower ranks in the organization. Many stories had been told of how the injury had happened, none of which were true. But as the second-in-command, she garnered respect through fear from those whom she commanded, and that made giving orders easier. No pushback, no talkback, no rebellion. When she said jump, they didn't even ask how high. They simply jumped hoping she was satisfied with the results.

There was a knock on the door. Hill pulled the patch down over her eye and called out, "Enter." When the burly young man stepped inside, she was busily typing at the computer. She let him stand there for exactly three minutes before speaking. "What?"

"Ma'am, the facial recognition program we were running has yielded results." He passed her a mini tablet already powered up. "It says…"

"I can _read_…" Hill snapped her fingers.

"Uh, Frederick, ma'am."

Shrugging as if it made no difference, Hill looked over the report without expression. "I'll send you a list of the team members I want on this op, Freddie. I'll also inform Fury." The man didn't leave. Just stood at parade rest looking uncomfortable. "Was there something _else?_"

"I don't like to be called…" Her one brown eye glared a dagger at him. He cleared his throat nervously. "No, ma'am."

Freddie turned on his heel and left the room. When she was certain he'd gone, Hill spoke to the air. "Call Fury."

"_Fury._"

"We've found her. I'm having an assault team prepared. I'm also sending you the scans. She's in the company of an A-list celebrity so we'll have to be careful not to draw attention to ourselves."

Hill heard the creak of his chair as he brought it upright. "_How far is it?_"

"Two hours at most. The problem will be getting in. Security is tighter than the White House." She gave him the location, rolling her eyes when he laughed.

"_We'll cover both entrances and follow until we can take her down. She has to come out sometime. One hour._" Fury ended the call by hanging up, and that was fine by Hill.

From the pocket of her black cargo pants, she took a small device, attached it to the back of her computer and touched the tiny button in the middle to activate its jamming software. For the next few minutes, no one would be able to monitor her though everything would look normal to anyone doing a routine scan.

She took out a secured cell phone and dialed a number from memory. There was no answer so she left a message. She didn't receive an immediate call-back so she dialed again. And again. Over the next thirty minutes, she called, emailed, and texted a total of seventeen times with no response. There was nothing else to be done except hope that _she_ was the one who ultimately located the target.

~~O~~

The dinner portion of the evening was over and coffee was being served. Clint accepted a cup for himself and Natalia, ignoring the server's intense interest in his date. She had to have heard about the drama with Alcina and wanted to be the one who gave details to the press. On the way in, he'd been pummeled with questions from the press about the identity of his date. The only answer he would give was "She's a friend." Some accepted that and others wanted to know her name. For an answer, he would smile and wave to the crowd of fans calling his name. Natalia handled all the drama with poise and self-confidence, merely smiling and not saying a word.

_This was a __bad__ idea_, he thought. _Now our photos will be all over television and the Internet. The people looking for her will know where she is. Too late now._ Clint's internal dialog just wouldn't shut up tonight no matter what the distraction. He'd tried talking to his tablemates, friends at surrounding tables and staring at Natalia's cleavage while thinking all sorts of things he shouldn't.

But that little voice kept telling him to appease the craving that had started even before he'd left home. What Natalia had said at their first meeting about him being able to stop using anytime he wanted was so far off base as to be laughable. He knew because he'd tried many times. The longest he'd gone without was two weeks, and only because Fallen Angels had been stranded in a small town during a blizzard. His bandmates had all denied having anything with them and he hadn't wanted to alienate them by accusing them of lying.

Clint was about to excuse himself when a thirtyish man wearing all black tapped him on the shoulder. "They need you backstage to get set up for the performance, Mr. Blue."

"Right." To Natalia, Clint said, "I'll see you in a bit."

She smiled. "Knock 'em dead, Jimmy."

Clint followed the stagehand out a side door and around to the dressing rooms. Up ahead he could see Country singer Logan Carter talking on a cell phone. As he neared, Carter put his phone away and the two men glared at each other. "Carter."

"Blue. So you're the one they got to replace Zoe."

"Well, only the best to stand in for the best."

Logan snorted. "Guess Timberlake wasn't available then."

"**** you, Carter."

"Back atcha, Blue."

With a wary eye, the stagehand left the two men alone. They both looked around to make sure no one would overhear, Clint leaning forward and lowering his voice, "You know, we do this and everyone will know it's all a put-on."

Shoving his hands into his pants pockets, Logan shrugged. "The word's already out that it was my idea to call you."

"Big of you. What're we doing?"

Reaching up to rub the back of his longish black hair, Logan snorted. "Nixed the love song in favor of Kenny Chesney's _When the Sun Goes Down_. Know it?"

"The one he did with Uncle Kracker. Yeah."

Another stagehand, a woman, stepped into their personal space. "Mr. Blue, this way please. We need to know what sort of set-up is necessary for your solo."

"Solo?"

Confused, the woman held out the tablet she and all the other stagehands were carrying. "You're replacing Zoe Genesis and she had a solo scheduled. You _do_ have something prepared."

"Uh," he resisted looking at Logan when the other man stifled a laugh, covering it with a cough, "yeah. Piano."

Into her headset, the woman said, "He's ready…No, just a piano…Got it." To Clint, she said, "This way please. Ten minutes."

Standing in the wings, Clint rubbed his hands together wishing he'd had a chance to step into the bathroom to take something to calm his nerves. Holding his hands out, he was relieved to see they were steady though he felt as if he were shaking. Resisting the urge to pace, Clint closed his eyes and went over the song note by note, nodding in time to the beat. He hoped it would be as well received as Natalia said it would.

The announcer's voice shook him out of his reverie, "_Ladies and gentlemen, as you may have already heard, Zoe Genesis gave birth tonight to a seven pound, eight ounce baby boy. Congratulations Zoe and David!_" He waited out the applause. "_While we share in their happiness, it does leave us with a small hole in our performance schedule, but not to worry, folks. Fortunately, we were able to find someone willing to step in and help us out. Please welcome the lead singer of Fallen Angels, Jimmy Blue!_"

Putting on a huge smile, Clint went out onto the stage, bowing at the thunderous applause before taking a seat at the piano and adjusting the microphone. "Thank you for that warm welcome. Wow! Isn't that incredible? I know Zoe and David will be great parents." He placed his hands on the keys, playing a few chords to get the feel of the instrument. "This song was written just yesterday. Only one other person had heard it so far. I'm dedicating it to anyone who's ever searched for their place in this world, and got lost along the way. It's called _Find My Way_."

As Clint played the intro, the room got very quiet. Taking a few breaths, he began to sing…

_Here I am and I'm wonderin'_

_How'd I ever get this far?_

_Life used to be about passion,_

_But now I can't find it anymore._

_And I pretend that I'm okay_

_But I know that's not the case._

_How do I get back_

_To where I want to be?_

_Where is the defining line_

_That lets me be me?_

_I'm searchin' and lookin'_

_For more than I can say,_

_Oh God, please help me_

_Help me find my way._

_Life should be about more_

_Than work and nothing else._

_But I've let it consume me_

_And now I've got nothing left._

_I still pretend that I'm okay,_

_But I know that's not the case._

_How do I get back_

_To where I want to be?_

_Where is the defining line_

_That lets me be me?_

_I'm searchin' and lookin'_

_For more than I can say,_

_Oh God, please help me_

_Help me find my way._

_Help me find my way back home,_

_Back to how life should be_

_Help me find where I belong,_

_And who I'm meant to be._

Clint ended the song with a shorter version of the intro. There was a breathless moment of silence then applause erupted. For him, it was more than just another track on a CD. This one came from a place inside he hadn't realized still existed. Writing it had been like the prodding of an old wound that was still a little tender, but tonight, it felt as if the scar had been cut open and blood was gushing all over the stage.

Calling on his experience as a performer, Clint pushed back from the piano and stood, bowing and waving to the crowd as he left the stage. He really needed to be alone for a few minutes. However, he was immediately waylaid by actors and other artists waiting to take their turn on stage for the presentation of more awards. Doing his best to smile and be polite at the effusiveness of their praise, Clint worked his way back to the dressing rooms, stopped outside the men's room by Logan Carter.

"That was _fantastic_, Jimmy."

Again, Clint forced a smile, accepting Logan's pat on the back. "Excuse me. I need to…"

This time a different stagehand addressed them. "Gentlemen, it's time to get changed."

Clint started to ask, but then realized that he and Logan could hardly do a song about the beach in their tuxes, and meekly followed the woman. A few minutes later, the two men were in baggy shorts, wild Hawaiian shirts over wife-beaters, straw hats and sandals. They looked at each other and laughed, Logan dropping an arm around Clint's shoulders companionably, both men giving up the pretense of the feud. "Let's do this, Jimmy."

"Sure. I just need to make a pit stop." Clint took one step in the direction of the bathrooms, but again, the stagehand stopped him, one hand to her ear indicating she was listening to someone and nodding.

"Five minutes. This way please."

She led them to the stage. Through the curtains, Clint could see beach chairs, a table between them set with umbrella drinks, palm trees in the background and a woodie wagon of the type made famous by the Beach Boys. In the pit, the orchestra sat ready to play. The intro started and Clint had no time to indulge himself. As they'd worked out while changing, Clint would sing Uncle Kracker's part with Logan doing Kenny Chesney's lyrics. Clint climbed into the woodie and waited for his cue.

_Suntanned toes ticklin' the sand  
Cold drink chillin' in my right hand_

_Watchin' you sleep in the evenin' light  
Restin' up for a long, long night_

'_Cuz when the sun goes down, we'll be groovin'  
When the sun goes down, be feelin' alright  
When the sun sinks down over the water  
Everything gets hotter when the sun goes down, yeah_

_All day long just takin' it easy  
Layin' in a hammock where it's nice and breezy  
And sleepin' off the night before  
'Cuz when the sun goes down we'll be back for more_

'_Cuz when the sun goes down, we'll be groovin'  
When the sun goes down, be feelin' alright  
When the sun sinks down over the water  
Everything gets hotter when the sun goes down, yeah_

_This old guitar and my dark sunglasses  
This sweet concoction is smooth as molasses  
Nothing to do but breathe all day  
Until the big moon rises and it's time to play_

'_Cuz when the sun goes down, we'll be groovin'  
When the sun goes down, be feelin' alright  
When the sun sinks down over the water  
(Sun sinks down)  
Everything gets hotter when the sun goes down  
(When the sun goes down)_

_When the sun goes down, we'll be groovin'  
When the sun goes down, be feelin' alright  
When the sun sinks down over the water  
Everything gets hotter when the sun goes down_

For the last part of the song, Logan and Clint were given acoustic guitars, and were joined by a group of women in bikinis dancing barefoot.

_When the sun goes down, we'll be groovin'  
When the sun goes down, be feelin' alright  
When the sun sinks down over the water  
Everything gets hotter when the sun goes down_

_When the sun goes down, we'll be groovin'  
When the sun goes down, be feelin' alright  
When the sun sinks down over the water  
Everything gets hotter when the sun goes down_

_Umm, umm, umm  
We'll be feelin' alright  
When the sun sinks down over the water  
Everything gets hotter when the sun goes down  
_

Going back to back, the two men gave the last chorus everything they had bringing the song to a rousing conclusion.

_When the sun goes down, we'll be groovin'  
When the sun goes down, be feelin' alright  
When the sun sinks down over the water  
Everything gets hotter when the sun goes down. Yeah!_

Waiting out the applause, whistles and cheers, Clint and Logan gave each other a one-armed hug then faced the audience and played along with the orchestra as they continued the outro. A few of the attendees got up to dance as well.

~~O~~

From her seat in the audience, Natalia watched Clint on stage and marveled that he was enjoying himself. Maybe the passion he'd spoken of in his song was coming back. Or he could be putting up a front. Sometimes he was hard to read.

When the duet with Logan ended, the two men talked back and forth while playing an instrumental of the song they'd just done. Logan said something that shocked Clint, and he stopped playing. Clint set the guitar down then tapped Logan on the shoulder. Halfway into the turn, Clint punched him in the face.

**TBC**

**A/N: **"When the Sun Goes Down" is a song written by Brett James, and recorded by American country music artist Kenny Chesney featuring Uncle Kracker in February 2004.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N:** This is another AU of the Avengers, post movie. Many thanks to ladygris for doing the Beta services again.

**Warning:** This story includes explicit and veiled references to drug and alcohol use and abuse.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the Avengers, Marvel, Facebook, Twitter or YouTube. If I've left anything out, aside from the OC characters, I don't own them/it either. Someone else does.

Namaste,

Sandy

How cruelly sweet are the echoes that start,

When memory plays an old tune on the heart.

~Eliza Cook

**Avengers**

**Echoes**

**Chapter 7**

Logan stumbled backward from the punch and tripped over the beach chair to land flat on his back. The orchestra played on for another few bars then stopped as the dancers rushed to Logan's side. Clint pushed his way through them and stalked from the stage, not stopping until he reached his dressing room.

He quickly changed back into his tux, ignoring the pounding on the door and demands that he open it immediately. When he tried to leave, a uniformed guard blocked his way, the two of them in some sort of glaring contest that ended when Coulson pushed through the people crowding the hall. Coulson wore a tux, obviously a guest, though he hadn't mentioned it to Clint. To the security guard, Coulson said, "Give us a few minutes, please, officer?"

The guard nodded and herded the others from the hallway as the dressing room door shut out the noise. Clint threw himself onto the sofa, one hand covering his eyes and his legs splayed wide.

"What the _hell_ happened out there? Everything was going great until…"

Clint shot to his feet with the need to move or he'd jump out of his skin, going to stand facing the far wall. "Don't wanna talk about it."

"You'll have to eventually. Here or in court, if you're arrested for assault. So what's it gonna be? 'Cause the news agencies will be calling and I need to know what to tell them."

Bowing his head, Clint took a deep breath to get himself under control. It wasn't working. He rounded on Coulson, shoved him to the side, yanked open the door and headed for the men's room with Coulson calling his name. To his relief, the bathroom was empty. Going to the sink, he stared at his reflection for a few heartbeats then turned on the tap to splash cold water on his face wondering why he was so angry at Logan's on-stage confession.

His hand went to the pocket that held what he called his pick-me-up. He went into the end stall and locked the door. A few minutes later, he'd calmed down, and still hadn't come up with a good reason for being angry enough to hit Logan. Clint didn't love Alcina. Never did. She was…convenient. That was the only word that seemed to fit. When he needed physical intimacy, Alcina had been in the right place at the right time, most of the time.

Clint washed his hands then used them to bring order to his hair, his next step clear. Out in the hall amidst the carefully controlled chaos that happened at these events, Clint grabbed a stagehand. "Where's Logan Carter?"

~~O~~

Leaning against Jimmy's back, relieved they'd finally put their fake hostilities behind them, Logan said, "I'm so glad this feud is over, man."

"Me too. Let's do that CD together we were talking about."

"You bet. Soon's I get back from my honeymoon."

Not betraying his surprise through his expression, Clint said, "When's the big day?"

"Couple months." One of the girls stole his hat and put it on making him laugh. "Alcina said she told you about us. Glad there're no hard feelings. Jimmy?"

The pressure of Jimmy's back pressing against his disappeared then Logan felt a hand on his shoulder. Thinking that Jimmy wanted to wish him luck, Logan turned with a smile just in time to see Jimmy's left fist coming at him. His knuckles smacked into his right eye sending him stumbling backward and over a chair. The band eventually stopped playing as the dancers and stagehands gathered around to make sure he was alright.

On his feet again, he realized that Alcina had lied. She hadn't told Jimmy that they'd fallen in love. He'd wanted her to come with him tonight, but she hadn't been feeling well, and now it dawned on him that _this_ was the real reason she'd stayed home, and she never missed a chance to pose for the cameras.

Pulling away from the hands of people still trying to help him, Logan told security, "I'm fine, and no, I don't want to press charges."

The guard hooked his thumbs into his belt. "You sure, Mr. Carter? 'Cause I can have him arrested right now."

"Let it go. I provoked him so it was own damn fault."

"Okay. His manager's in with him now. Hopefully there won't be any more trouble tonight."

_Not from him_, Logan thought. _But Alcina and I'll have words when I get home._

One of the dancers, a bleached blonde who'd been flirting with him all through rehearsals and since he'd arrived tonight came up beside him holding onto his arm with both hands. She batted her heavily made up eyes. "You poor thing. You're gonna have a black eye by mornin'. Want me to get you some ice?"

"No, thank you. I've got to get going. My fiancée's having a bout of morning sickness that's lasted all day and I promised to bring her some ice cream."

The girl snatched her hands away with a gasp. "You have a fiancée _and_ you're havin' a baby?!"

She stomped her foot, spun on her heel and stalked away. Logan pushed open his dressing room door and closed it gently. He'd told the dancer the truth. Getting hit was only what he deserved. He and Alcina should've come clean about their relationship long before she got pregnant. Logan made a mental note to issue a formal apology to his friend, and hopefully it would keep their fake feud from becoming real.

~~O~~

"He's requested his car, Mr. Blue. There's a shortcut. Take that door and follow the hallway to the right until you get to the door marked No Exit."

The stagehand pointed, and without responding, Clint followed the man's instructions, soon finding himself in the lobby of the banquet hall. Logan had just stepped out the door, waving to the crowd. Breaking into a jog, he easily caught up with the country singer under the porte-cochère. "Logan! Hold up!"

Logan stopped and waited for Clint, his expression carefully neutral for the crowd. "Dude, I'm really sorry about everything. Alcina and I should've said something a long time ago."

Clint shook his head. "I'm the one that started it when I broke that pool cue over your nose in that bar outside Nashville."

Shaking his head and laughing, Logan pointed a finger at him. "I forgot all about that."

"Did you also forget it was _you_ who kicked over the Harley that landed on my foot? I was in a cast for over a month and walked with a limp for almost a year." Both men were very aware that they were being watched by tens of thousands of people and that everything they were doing would be posted online and talked about for months. Leaning close, Clint whispered, "Let's end this here and now."

Relieved, Logan smiled and drew his friend into a hug. Stepping back, they shook hands and waved for the crowd. Clint also hoped that this incident would be enough to push the photos of his and Natalia's arrival out of the limelight. Tomorrow they'd find out if it worked.

A reporter waved, shouting above the crowd, "Does this mean the feud's over, guys?"

Logan's smile widened. "You betcha! We're gonna do a CD together too."

To Clint, the woman said, "So you're leaving Fallen Angels to go solo?"

A little angry at her assumption, Clint snatched the microphone from her hand, waving an arm in the air. "Can I have everyone's attention please? Everyone listen up! Just to be _absolutely_ _clear_, I have no intentions of leaving Fallen Angels. Not now. Not any time in the near future. Everyone got that?"

There was a chorus of agreement from the assembled members of the press as Clint nodded and handed the mic back to the reporter. He walked Logan to his limo, they shook hands one more time then Clint returned to the backstage area the same way he'd come out. By the time he reached the dressing rooms, Natalia was there and she didn't look happy. Not that he blamed her. "Oh, hey. Here's your phone. You left it…"

"Don't have any pockets."

Clint put the phone away again, a sheepish smile on his face. "Sorry if I embarrassed you. It's all good now."

"What happened?"

"Stress, I guess. Not that I'm hinting you should do anything about it." She just watched him unblinking and with a half-smile. "Unless you _want_ to. In that case…" Her phone vibrated and he took it out again. "You should answer that. Someone _really_ wants to talk to you."

She tapped the answer icon. "_Da?_" Clint watched her listening to the caller, her expression never changing except for her eyes. "_Spasibo__._" She ended the call, dropped the phone to the floor and rammed her spiked heel into it over and over until there was nothing left but a pile of broken plastic and silicon. Digging through the pieces, she pulled out the SIM card and slipped it into her cleavage. Grabbing his hand, her eyes dark with an emotion he interpreted as somewhere between rage and concern, she led him toward the exit. "We have to go. The people after me are on their way."

"I'll have security call the cops."

Pulling him with one hand and holding her dress up to keep from tripping, she said, "The police can't help. These people won't hesitate to kill anyone who gets in their way. I have to draw them away."

"Let me help. Just tell me what to do."

"Call for the car. John will take you home so you'll be safe and I'll pick up my car."

Digging his heels in, Clint brought her to a stop. Not as easy as he thought it would be. "No way. _You_ came to _me_, remember? Like it or not, I'm in this up to my ass and it's getting deeper all the time. Wherever _you_ go, _I_ go."

~~O~~

Not in the mood to argue, Natalia waited while Clint had a stagehand call for the limo then took his hand to hurry him along. They slowed down, smiling at the crowd as they reached the front doors. A valet opened the back of the limo and they got in.

"Where to?" Clint asked.

"1701 Solemente in La Jolla." Natalia waited while Clint relayed the info to the driver. Through the privacy partition that separated the driver from the passengers, she could see John entering the address into the GPS. Five minutes later, he made a right turn and got onto Highway 5. Before long, Clint and Natalia were being dropped off in a quiet and forlorn part of La Jolla. Natalia returned to the car to thank John then he was sent on his way.

The building was old and appeared to be abandoned. "Appeared" being the operative word. Nothing about this place was as it seemed, as Clint was about to find out. He looked up at the building and Natalia tried to see it through his eyes. Dark and forbidding seemed an appropriate description.

"What next?"

"I need a few things I can't get from the local discount store, and I have to change." She gathered the material in her hands and led Clint to the small regular sized door near several loading dock doors. Taking the SIM card from the front of her dress, she used it to gain access to the building. With her exceptional eyesight, she didn't need a flashlight to find her way.

There was a thump and Clint cried out, "Ow! Sonofa*****!"

Taking his hand, Natalia led the way to what had once been an office. Now it held so much more. "Stay here."

She left him alone and made her way to the electrical panels. Selecting the third from the left, she switched the handle to the "on" position, sending electricity to the office and bathrooms. When she returned, Clint was still standing in the middle of the room, hands in his pockets and looking very uncomfortable.

"You don't look well. Are you okay?"

"I will be."

Going to one of the lockers, Natalia took out a bundle of clothing and a pair of boots. "I'm going to change. You might want to as well."

"Change? Why?"

Giving him a patient smile, she pointed at his tux. "That's a Bottega Veneta. At four grand a pop you don't want to get shot at while wearing it. You're not James Bond, you know."

He did a classic double take, his hand waving in the air. "Wait! Did you say 'get shot at'?"

Pursing her lips in thought, she shrugged. "That probably won't happen, but just in case, the clothes in those last two lockers will probably fit you."

Leaving him to think on that, Natalia went into the ladies room and closed the door. When she returned to the office, Clint had changed into black cargo pants, short sleeved black shirt and boots. He was tying the laces and she allowed herself a few moments of self-indulgence to watch him, comparing this Clint to the one in her dreams. She sensed that the relationship they shared now was much different than that of the other Clint and _his_ Natalia, who apparently went by Natasha. She tried it out in her head before making her presence known and found she liked it. "Took my advice, I see. Black suits you."

Clint did the same as he'd done the first time they met: His eyes took a leisurely stroll down to her feet and back to her eyes. "And you look…dangerous. What're those?"

She adjusted the objects around her wrists. "Widow's Bites. Tasers."

"Look, Natalia…"

Her eyes flicked up then back down. "The other Clint calls me-he calls _her_ Natasha."

Clint made a noncommittal grunt. "So what happens next? How do we find them?"

Natalia's genial attitude and smile vanished as she opened a hidden compartment in the wall. "Not a problem. _They_ will find _us_."

~~O~~

John pulled away from the old warehouse after leaving his client, Jimmy Blue and his date standing in the pool of a single bright light. As instructed, he drove for forty minutes before pulling over to the side of the road and getting out. Turning on the burner phone he'd been given, he dialed the number he'd memorized. "You're looking for Natalia Romanova and I can help you. Got a pen?"

He ended the call and switched the phone off before it could be tracked by GPS. Leaving his jacket and hat in the car, he climbed the fence onto a construction site and used a rock to smash the phone, making certain that the SIM card was also destroyed. Scooping up the pieces, he carried them to a large rectangular hole crisscrossed with rebar and dropped them into the bottom. He covered the area with more dirt, brushed the excess from his hands and returned to the limo.

The night was over for John, and he was more than happy to return home with his bank account enlarged to the tune of ten grand, the amount the woman had paid him to pass on the address he'd just left. If it all worked out as planned, she promised he'd be given other similar tasks to perform in the future. With visions of a new and exciting career dancing in his brain, John headed for home.

~~O~~

Taking a vest from the locker, Clint shrugged into it and zipped it while watching Natalia from the corner of his eye. Now she wanted to be called Natasha, apparently changing names as often as most people changed their underwear. Whatever. He had to admit that, somehow, Natasha fit with how she was dressed. She wore a skin-hugging catsuit that zipped up the front, a belt with a red buckle cinched her small waist, and knee high boots that had the look of buttery soft leather. Pulling on a pair of fingerless gloves, she seemed to have forgotten he was there as she took out the SIM card that was more than an integrated circuit, swiped it over a reader that opened a small panel exposing a camera like device. Natasha looked into the aperture and lights flickered over her eye. He moved closer wanting to see what a retinal scanner looked like up close, taking a step back when the wall retracted into the ceiling revealing a vast collection of weapons. Not knowing much about guns, Clint could only take an uneducated guess at the types of weapons displayed. He must've made a sound because she turned to him and smiled. "Something wrong?"

"When you told me what you do, I thought you were exaggerating. Padding your résumé to impress or scare me."

"All true." From a drawer in the wall to wall cabinet in the bottom of the secret cache, Natasha removed another belt, this one with dual thigh holsters. She flipped it around her back, buckled the front then each of the thigh straps.

When she caught him staring, he smiled and shrugged sheepishly. "_Love_ the thigh holsters."

Her mouth turned up in a smile. "Most law enforcement agencies have transitioned to hip and shoulder holsters, but I find these more efficient."

Clint couldn't help the small surge of sexual excitement that rushed through his veins. Anything he'd been feeling for her before paled in comparison to how she looked now. Especially her nonchalance with the arsenal displayed on the wall. He continued to watch her, though now it felt like ogling, as she inserted a six inch knife into the sheath also hanging from the holster, startling him when she crouched to shove smaller knives into each boot.

One of the armaments caught his eye, more for the incongruity of it being displayed with modern weapons than because he hadn't seen one before. Almost as if he were in a trance, Clint ran his fingers over the curves of the bow, moving to touch the tips of the arrows in the quiver next to it, feeling his adrenaline spike without knowing why. He'd never touched a weapon of any kind, much less used one. The only knives he'd used were the ones in his kitchen.

He took down the bow, examining it from all angles. He switched it to his right hand, wrapped the first three fingers of his left hand around the string, bringing the bow up to eye level and drawing the string back to his cheek.

"What're you doing?"

Startled, Clint let go, yelping when the bowstring struck his right forearm. He set the bow on the counter to rub at the red welt. "Sonofab****! How does anyone use that ****ing thing without killing themselves?"

Though Natasha wasn't smiling, Clint could feel the humor coming from her as she opened another drawer and took out two objects, holding one in each hand. "Finger guard, arm guard. You've never used one before?"

"No." Clint returned the bow to its place on the wall. "Not a gun either."

"A gun is actually much simpler to use. Point and shoot." Taking down a handgun that looked too big for her hands, she ejected the magazine, checked that it was empty and replaced it. Handing it to him, she moved behind him. "Square off of the target. Feet shoulder distance apart. Hold your left fist in your right palm to steady it. Align your thumbs. They'll give you additional support and accuracy."

Having Natasha pressed up against his back so intimately, though it wasn't meant to be sexual, still felt that way to Clint making it difficult to pay attention to what she was saying. She adjusted his grip and in doing so, her breasts pressed even harder against his back increasing the air of intimacy as if their actions were a form of foreplay. Over his shoulder, he quipped, "I knew you liked to cuddle."

"Just pay attention unless you'd rather hide while I fight off a horde of mercenaries."

"Sorry. I'll try to keep the off-color remarks to a minimum." She chuckled and it was all he could do to get his mind out of the gutter and back on the subject of not getting killed.

Natasha's hands touched the outsides of his thighs guiding him in this next step. "Feet shoulder width apart. Left foot back. Align the front and rear sights. Make sure they're level. To load a round into the chamber, pull back on the slide. When shooting, control your breathing. The best time to fire is immediately upon the exhale. Now click the safety off, place your finger on the trigger, inhale, exhale and…squeeze."

Clint did as he was told, the hammer clicking on an empty chamber. "Doesn't seem that difficult. But are you really gonna trust me with a loaded gun?"

This time Natasha huffed, the tone annoyed. "You insisted on coming so your choices are to put up or shut up. What's it gonna be?"

"Can we try it once with the real thing?"

"Yes, but not here." Clint followed Natasha out into the warehouse proper and down a long hallway, coming to a stop in front of a blank wall. She turned her wrist over and touched a button on a silver wristband he hadn't seen her put on, and the wall slid aside. The SIM card was inserted in the side of the wristband and a display on the top lit up. She glanced at it then returned her attention to their current task. The wall moved back into place once they were inside, the lights coming on automatically. She handed him ear and eye protection then chose a set for herself. "Here's a full clip with live rounds. You saw how I loaded it right?"

Without responding, Clint awkwardly removed the empty clip and replaced it with a full one. Keeping in mind everything she'd just taught him, he got into his stance, aimed, clicked the safety off and squeezed. The handgun recoiled harder than he thought it would, but he still hit the target, albeit in the upper right corner.

"Not bad, but you need a _lot_ of practice. Aim down and to the left a bit." Clint altered his aim and this time came a little closer. Hopefully he wouldn't need to use it, but it was best to be prepared. She glanced at the clock. "Better. They'll be here soon so one more then I gotta go."

"Go? Go where?" Natasha jammed her fists into her hips and looked at Clint as if he'd said something incredibly stupid. _Well, maybe I did._

"To set a trap, of course."

With all his will power, Clint managed to keep his eyes from bugging out. "I thought coming here was so we could stay, you know, under the radar," Clint's voice was almost an accusation so he softened it with a shrug.

His companion shook her head and snorted. "In a perfect world, yes. However, no one and nothing's perfect, not even my plan."

"Okay. A plan is good. Let me ask this: how d'you know they're coming and when?"

"Simple. I knew they were coming and would be there within an hour of us leaving. It took about thirty minutes to get here. Changing took fifteen, give or take and your handgun crash course, another fifteen. That gives us approximately-let's go with thirty minutes-to set traps and prepare for their arrival."

Taking the additional magazines, Clint shoved them into the pockets of his cargo pants. "So number two is how you know for absolute certainty they're coming, right?"

"Of course."

"And that is…"

This time she rolled her eyes at him. "Because I told them where we are, of course. You're not real quick on the uptake, are you, Clint?"

"I would be if we were talking about music, but all of this is new to me." He held up a hand to stop Natasha before she went into her original reason for seeking him out. "And please, don't say it. Yeah, you think I'm this other guy, the one you keep seeing in your dreams, the spy who can run and shoot and do all that other crap. But…" Clint gestured at himself, "…this is what you've got, and that's no great shakes when it comes to, you know, what you do."

"It's okay for you to say it, Clint. I'm an assassin. There's more to it than that, but we don't have time to go into it now. When this is over…"

"Assuming we're both still alive."

Natasha crossed her arms and stuck one hip out to the side to show her annoyance, stating even more firmly, "_When_ this is over, we'll do something that's fun for _you_ before we get down to serious business. But right now, it's all about _me_."

"Just tell me one thing. You killed your phone and mine's back at the theater. How did you get a message out?" A wave of smugness oozed out of her, catching Clint and drawing him in. Damn, she was sexy no matter what she was saying or doing. _How does that other guy keep his mind on work around her?_

"That was the easy part." Natasha turned her back and started walking obviously expecting Clint to follow, so he did. "I paid John to call and tell them where we are."

~~O~~

Riding in the front passenger seat of the second vehicle, Hill corresponded with Fury and the other team, relaying any messages. She preferred this method of communication just because she hated talking on a phone unless it was absolutely necessary.

What her team didn't know was that she'd also included an unknown and untraceable number in the list providing that person with every detail of the op. What the contact did with the information was out of Hill's purview, just the way she liked it. But that didn't mean she couldn't speculate.

Without being told, her team put on night vision glasses and gloves. Hill did the same while working out a plan of her own. Tonight would be a turning point for her and the organization that had no name. Well, that would change when she took over because it was time they started taking credit for their endeavors.

They parked two blocks away to keep from being heard or seen, gathering in a group awaiting Fury's word to begin. As always, Fury nodded and the teams separated to approach their target from opposite directions.

As they neared, Hill pushed a finger up under the eye patch. To anyone else, it looked as if she were rubbing to ease a twinge in her damaged eye, but nothing could be farther from the truth. She felt the touch and her eye's reaction to it. Satisfied, she waved her team forward, holding up a hand when they reached a group of rusted out barrels. Crouching in the dark, Hill pointed to one wiry young man and gave the signal.

He made a crouching run to the door, attached a small amount of a clay-like substance to the lock, and returned to Hill's side. Holding up the detonator, he pressed the button. There was a muffled thud and a puff of smoke around the lock. The door popped open about three inches.

Holding up her left hand, she counted down three, two, one, making a fist. The team ran across the open space, swarmed up the stairs and inside. She left a man to watch the door while the rest of the team methodically swept the adjacent area. They found nothing that didn't belong and no heat signatures.

Hill tapped each of her team on the shoulder, issuing silent orders. One at a time, they moved off in the direction indicated, and when they were gone, Hill got to her feet, again pushing a finger under the patch and quickly withdrawing it. The night vision glasses she wore were different than those of her team. In fact, no one in the organization had anything like it. Hers included a HUD she now tuned to a specific frequency that showed her things no one else could see.

Her face a mask of determination, Hill made her way quickly and quietly through the warehouse until she came to a huge boiler. The HUD indicated that she was very close to where she needed to be. With her back against the support pillar, she hefted her weapon held easily in both hands. The HUD counted down as the subject closed the distance between them. A small flashing dot indicated the other person was less than fifteen yards from her hiding place. Giving a three count, she eased the safety off and spun out into the open. "Stop there!"

The tension in her body increased when instead of Natalia she saw a man dressed all in black standing before her. He seemed more than a little uneasy with the fact that she was pointing a weapon at him in spite of the fact that he was doing the same to her.

Hill's eye narrowed dangerously as she took a step closer, gesturing with the weapon for emphasis. "_Where's_ Natalia? What've you done to her?"

**TBC**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N:** This is another AU of the Avengers, post movie. Many thanks to ladygris for doing the Beta services again.

**Warning:** This story includes explicit and veiled references to drug and alcohol use and abuse.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the Avengers, Marvel, Facebook, Twitter or YouTube. If I've left anything out, aside from the OC characters, I don't own them/it either. Someone else does.

Namaste,

Sandy

How cruelly sweet are the echoes that start,

When memory plays an old tune on the heart.

~Eliza Cook

**Avengers**

**Echoes**

**Chapter 8**

Clint sensed that the woman in front of him was as dangerous as Natalia, if not more so. In an attempt to cut some of the tension, Clint lifted one eyebrow and gave the woman a cheeky grin. "Anything she wants me to."

The one brown eye he could see narrowed in irritation. "Who _are_ you?"

"Who are _you?_"

She cocked her head to the side, clearly listening to something only she could hear. "This is pointless. If you know Natalia so well then what's her sister's name?"

Snorting, Clint said, "No sister. Three brothers. Your turn. Where was she born?"

"Stalingrad."

Once she relaxed her stance, he did too though both still kept their weapons pointed at each other. She took a step toward him and he gave her the same courtesy until they were less than ten feet apart. At this distance, even _he_ couldn't miss. "You're Hill, aren't you? Nat said you were coming, but I didn't believe it until now."

"Yes. Now, who _are_ you?"

"Clint." At Hill's questioning frown, he elaborated, including a shrug on the end. "Nat said she knows me from a dream or some _crap_ like that. Not completely sure I believe it."

For the first time, Hill smiled, and the gesture transformed her. Instead of looking like a rhino about to charge, she took on the appearance of a cobra waiting to strike. Both equally dangerous and both to be avoided at all costs. "She doesn't like that nickname. And she's not one to make frivolous statements. If she said it, then you can bet your ass it's true."

"That's just it. My _ass_ is on the line whether I believe it or not. Until a few days ago, my biggest problem was finishing my next CD and not getting caught driving on a suspended license with a BAC over the legal limit."

"CD? You're a singer?"

Clint rolled his eyes. "Musician first, singer second, but yeah. Maybe you've heard of us. Fallen Angels?" Hill took another step forward bringing her fully into a pool of light so that now Clint could see the entirety of her face, the left eye covered by a black eye patch. The one good eye showed a glimmer of recognition.

"Thought you looked familiar. You're Jimmy Blue. I'm a…" Again she cocked her head to the side listening. Clint guessed she was wearing a headset of some kind so she could keep in contact with her people.

"What's going on?"

She slashed a hand through the air, ordering him to be quiet. Unexpectedly, she dropped her weapon into the holster on her right thigh. "Shoot me."

Dumbfounded at her order, Clint gasped out, "What?! No!"

Hill walked backwards a few steps, looking left and right. "They're coming!" She reached across her body, yanking sharply on the sleeve of her shirt, ripping it then did the same to the front showing that she was wearing one of those spandex sports bras underneath. "Come here."

Still wary, Clint lowered his gun and two very slow steps forward. "What…"

"Hit me."

His mouth dropped open for a moment as he shook his head. "Lady, _you_ have _flipped_. I've _never_ hit a woman in my life and don't intend to start now."

Huffing loudly, Hill grabbed his wrist, her expression imploring. "If Fury sees us or finds out I've been helping Natalia, _I'm_ dead, _you're _dead and so is she because he won't rest until she's been taken out." She must've seen his reluctance because she made a fist and hit herself in the face several times, bloodying her lip, and maybe even giving herself a black eye. "Shoot me."

Footsteps sounded in the darkness, echoing so that it was difficult to know from what direction they were coming. Clint nodded once and backed up until he was far enough away that he could aim effectively. He raised the gun, holding it like Natalia had taught him, yet still he hesitated.

"Do it now!"

Startled by her commanding tone, Clint squeezed the trigger, the bullet catching Hill along the upper thigh. Crying out in pain, she fell to the floor, blood flowing down her leg. Immediately sorry, he started forward, but Hill shook her head, her voice a harsh whisper filled with pain, "I'm _fine_. Go! Hurry!"

Clint hesitated, but when he heard a man's voice coming toward their location, he turned and ran like the frightened rabbit he was, ducking when several shots rang out. One shot hit a pressure gauge to his left breaking the plastic cover and encouraging him to run even faster.

He ducked behind a pillar, the adrenaline pouring into his system causing a roaring in his ears. Still, through it he heard the scrape of a shoe on the concrete floor. Again keeping in mind everything Natalia had taught him, he held the handgun in both hands out in front of him as he followed it through the dimly lit boiler room.

There it was again! Holding his breath and trying to listen, he cursed his hearing and made a mental note to see the doctor to have something done to correct the damage. Until then… He stopped moving, his eyes darting here and there looking for the source of the sound. Up ahead, what little light there was glinted from the barrel of an automatic weapon, the kind you needed two hands to use. The handgun was no match for it, and Clint was considering turning tail, hoping he could outrun the other person or at least lose them in the dark. That would be easy to do because he didn't know his way around that well and would likely get lost himself. Unbidden, something his father had once said echoed in his head, "He who fights and runs away deserves to be shot in the back."

Not the most eloquent idiom, but it strengthened his resolve.

Clint ducked behind a piece of equipment whose purpose was lost on him, calling out, "I know you're there. Show yourself."

A low chuckle reached out to touch him. "Or what? You'll shoot me? You couldn't hit a barn with a bazooka."

There was something about the voice that gave Clint pause. It sounded familiar. Too familiar. "We can talk about this. No one has to get hurt." He rolled his eyes at the stock response used in nearly all police dramas during hostage negotiations.

As if reading his mind, his tormentor chuckled again. "This isn't a negotiation. It's a Mexican stand-off, and we're not gonna get out of it by playing rock-paper-scissors. I'd like to see who I'm talking to, and as a show of good faith, I promise not to kill you. At least not right away."

"Honor among thieves? I watch movies. There's no such thing." Still, Clint gave the matter careful thought. They couldn't stay like this for much longer before one of Hill's people showed up making it two to one. He didn't know what Natalia had in mind to get them out of this mess, but he needed to give her time to put the plan into motion. "On three. One…two…three."

Bracing himself in anticipation of being shot, Clint stepped into the small pool of light to his left. There was a brief moment of genuine fear that he'd made a colossal mistake then a figure appeared out of the darkness. The face was familiar though he hadn't seen him in more than six years. His hair was slicked back off his forehead and he had a goatee, but there was no mistaking the eyes. They were the same blue-gray color as his own. The eyes they'd both inherited from their mother. "Barney?"

"Hello, little brother." Barney didn't seem at all surprised to find his musician brother wielding a weapon in a life or death situation. "Long time, no see."

"What the hell…"

Adjusting his stance, weapon held casually in both hands, Barney's intense stare took in everything in a single glance. One hand went to his right ear as he listened to the chatter from his colleagues. "I could ask the same. How do you know the Black Widow?"

"Long story. One I'm guessing we don't have time for." The brothers stared at each other for a long time, Barney giving Clint time to work it all out. "So it's all true. The corruption, the payoffs, the forced resignation."

Barney shrugged. "I resigned the agency then the FBI leaked word of an investigation. It was all part of my cover as an agent disillusioned with a system that allowed the bad guys to go free and innocent people to go to prison."

Confusion danced around inside Clint's brain. "Cover? You mean…"

"Exactly. My mission was to infiltrate Fury's operation, which I've done. We're just a few weeks from taking them down." The friendly attitude Barney had been displaying vanished. "Don't take this the wrong way because it's really _is_ good to see you again, brother, but your presence here, which you _will_ explain later, puts nearly two years of painstaking work in jeopardy." Again, Barney appeared to be listening through his headset, forehead crinkling in irritation. "I have to go. Get out while you still can."

Barney gestured with his weapon. Clint nodded, turned and jogged away. He glanced over his shoulder for one last look, but his brother had been swallowed up by the darkness.

~~O~~

Barney waited until Clint had gone before returning to the job he'd been assigned by Hill. Making his way quietly through the maze of long dormant equipment, he listened to the chatter from the others without really hearing it. As long as it didn't directly involve him, he paid it no attention.

The night vision glasses showed residual heat where someone had been leaning their back against the wall. That person had moved on, the bright red fading first to pink then to green and finally blue as the heat dissipated. It was how he found Clint. Of course, he hadn't known it was his brother at the time and had been about to shoot when he recognized the voice. Clint didn't know it, but Barney had all of Fallen Angels' CDs in his vast music collection. And though he was very proud of his brother's accomplishments, no one knew they were related. It was the best way to keep his family safe due to the nature of his work. He'd even gone to several concerts. In disguise, of course.

Being undercover meant living and breathing your alias, and that you're always one slip away from death or a breakdown. Television and movies glamorized undercover operations, but it was really all about knowing your character, what their responses to a particular situation would be and operating accordingly. It was very much like being an actor except the part where the director yells "cut" and the stuntman takes over. Undercover was a 24/7 job for as long as the operation lasted, be it for a day, a month or a year, and Barney had been at this one for longer than that. It had taken months just to get an introduction, and an even longer stint of doing grunt work before he was brought fully into the organization. All of his hard work would be coming to fruition very soon, provided they all survived the night.

Barney was in the middle of a silent prayer that Clint had managed to get away when he felt he was being watched. Scanning the surrounding area, he saw no other heat signatures, at floor level or up high. The intel he'd gotten on the Black Widow said she was very resourceful, meaning that it was likely she had a way to fool the sensors.

His scans did reveal that there were explosives set strategically around the building. The timer on the beam above him was counting down from twenty-seven minutes and a few seconds. He would continue to play his part for another few minutes to give Clint time to get away then clear out himself. With Fury and Hill still inside when the C-4 exploded, the organization would be in shambles. It would take them a while to regroup, but by then, the FBI would've swept them all into custody and put them into a deep, dark hole.

Through his headset, Barney heard Hill and Fury talking. Now would be a good time to blow this place to Jesus before they could make the exit, but since it wasn't up to him, Barney did the only think he could: He headed for the exit.

Once outside, he removed the headset, dropped it to the ground and crushed it under his heel. Pressing a button on the side of his watch activated a tracking device. Turning it on was a signal for his team waiting in the wings, letting them know he was out of the danger zone and would rendezvous with them at the set time and place.

Glancing around to get his bearings, another member of Fury's team came around the side of the building. Barney nodded a greeting. "Lost my headset. Tell Fury that the building's about to blow."

The other man hefted his weapon, glancing up then back to Barney. "He already knows. Let's go."

Resigned, Barney nodded and the men jogged away from the warehouse toward their rendezvous point. Barney cursed the fact that they'd disabled all of the traffic and security cameras within a three block radius leaving him with no way to let his team know about this new development. He'd have to play it by ear for now.

~~O~~

Fury's voice sounded in Hill's ear telling her he was on his way. Using both hands, she mussed her hair, pulling some of the long strands from the efficient bun she normally wore it in. Then, taking out her weapon, she scooted across the floor to the support beam, using it for cover. She had her weapon aimed in his direction, visibly relaxing when he came into sight.

"Hill! What happened?"

"The Widow attacked me. Came up on my blind side."

Fury holstered his weapon, crouching to examine her wound. He pulled off her torn sleeve and used it as a bandage. "It's just a graze. Let's get you out of here then I'll come back and take that ***** down myself."

Nodding and panting in excruciating pain, Hill leaned heavily on Fury's shoulder. After they'd gone about thirty yards, her good leg gave out. "I need to rest."

Hill leaned against a set of pipes running along the wall at chest height while Fury kept a careful watch. "All units, report." One hand went to his headset as he listened to their people report, disappointed that none but Hill had seen Natalia. "****! She has to be in here somewhere. There hasn't been enough time for her to get away."

Pushing off the wall, Hill's right hand came from behind her back as she moved closer to Fury, the limp not nearly as pronounced as it had been. "She's already gone."

Fury made a sound of derision. "How do you know?"

"She has help."

"The Black Widow works alone." Fury started to turn, jerking to a stop, his eyes going very wide in shock and agony. He grunted when she made a twisting motion then Hill withdrew the knife from his gut. Blood poured out his mouth and down the front of his body to mingle with that spilling out through the hole in his liver.

"Not always." She watched without emotion as her former superior gurgled and wheezed as he fell first to his knees then onto his side, blood making a pool of red around him. Careful to avoid stepping in the blood, Hill got down on one knee next to him, wincing when the injury pulled. "It's time for a change in management." She patted him on the cheek. "Rest in peace, Fury. Or should I say, rest in pieces because this place is wired with enough explosives to send us all to hell and back, though I've got a hunch you're headed for the dungeon rather than the penthouse."

Using Fury's shirt, Hill wiped the knife clean, shoved it back into its sheath and stood again. As she limped away, she tossed a quick, "See you in hell, Nick" over her shoulder, hearing one last gasp before she turned the corner out of sight.

~~O~~

Perched in the rafters, Natalia watched and waited, biding her time as Fury's team spread out to search her sanctuary, slowly making their way toward the center where the office was located. A few minutes ago, she heard gunfire and had been concerned that Clint might've gotten hurt, but the biomedical device sewn into his vest still showed his vitals were strong, albeit more than a little high indicating his fight or flight instinct had been activated. If she had to guess, Natalia would say both.

A voice came over the headset in her ear. Hill. "_It's done. Let's blow this thing so we can go home._"

Pursing her lips, Natalia said, "I have to take out the trash and pack. Say twenty minutes?"

"_Twenty. Hill out_."

She yanked the headset out and tossed it away. One more glance at the tracker told her that Clint was now in the office where he was pacing, safe for the moment.

Making her way down to the floor, Natalia systematically took out Fury's people one, two and three at a time. These men and women had been especially chosen because of their unwavering loyalty to Nick Fury and their dislike for Hill. With them and Fury gone, Hill's takeover of the organization would go much smoother.

Natalia returned to the office to find Clint sitting in a chair tapping his heel nervously. He leapt to his feet as soon as he saw her, his arms coming up as if he intended to embrace her. She stopped him with a hand in the middle of his chest. "We have to go. This building is about to explode."

"Uh, yeah." He went to the locker, taking out his tux and stuffing it into a duffle bag he found. "Nat, I…"

"Walk now, talk later!" Nodding, Clint slung the bag over his shoulder and followed her through the warehouse to the exit. He stopped to look back and she grabbed his hand, urging him to run. "Thirty seconds."

They managed to get almost a block away before the building blew up knocking them off their feet. Anticipating what would happen, Natalia was ready when the blast hit them. Clint, not so much. She knelt at his side as he rolled onto his back. Groaning, he sat up holding his head in both hands as if he thought it would fall off. "Damn, that _hurt!_"

"You'll be okay. Can you stand?"

"Yeah." Clint got to his hands and knees then to his feet. "I shot someone."

That bald statement surprised her, his tone as much as the words themselves. "You did? Who?"

"That would be me." Natalia's weapon appeared in her left hand at the sound of footsteps coming out of the darkness. A grin appeared on Hill's face as she joined them, all weight on her good leg. "It's okay. It was _my_ idea." To Natalia, she said, "Ready?"

Nodding, Natalia flicked her eyes at Clint and back to Hill. "Give us a minute." She drew Clint a few feet away, keeping her voice low. "I have to go with Hill. You can make it home okay, right?"

"I'll catch a cab." He glanced over at Hill, who'd turned her back, and before Natalia could stop him, he grabbed her upper arms and pulled her in for a quick kiss. A moment later, he'd jogged out of sight.

Hill came up beside her watching him leave. "He's a big boy, Natalia. He'll be fine."

"I'm not so sure. His life is about music, fancy parties, and fun. This is all new to him."

They were joined by three men who'd managed to make it out alive. Hill introduced them as Freddie, Wyatt and Charlie. Then, with Hill leading, they headed for their vehicle, Freddie taking the wheel on Hill's order.

They'd gone about a half a block when Hill asked Natalia, "You're not falling for him, are you?"

Natalia looked at her and away. "Maybe. But once everything goes back to the way it's supposed to be, it won't matter. _None_ of this will matter."

**Hours Later at an Undisclosed Location**

More than thirty women and men were crowded into a room a room meant to hold far less. Some had been able to get seats. The rest stood along the walls displaying various attitudes real or feigned regarding the reason for the meeting.

All conversation stopped as Hill walked to the front of the room with the aid of a cane. Not that she needed it, but it made her appear less threatening. Those who'd gone up against her knew enough not to be fooled. She'd been trained by the best to _be_ the best. She was one of the few and the proud. Her personal motto was "pain is weakness leaving the body."

"It is with great sadness that I inform you of the death of our esteemed leader, Nick Fury, along with twelve of our best warriors. As of now, I am formally taking command of this operation. And as your new leader, I will need someone on whom I can rely to have my back and yours, whatever the situation." Hill nodded. The guard opened the door, some of the assembled gasping with shock as another joined her. "As some of you may know, this is The Black Widow. Beginning immediately, her orders are _my_ orders and are to be obeyed to the letter. Is that understood?"

Hill stared down the assemblage, daring them to oppose her. None did. She shared a look with Natalia then reached up to remove the eye patch. This time, there was stunned silence at seeing what lay beneath. Hill's left eye had been replaced with a biomechanical eye that gave her the ability to detect a wider visual spectrum than the average human, all controlled by the cybernetic implant in her brain. Outwardly, it appeared to be a normal human eye, but close observation showed the truth behind it. Someone with exceptional hearing might even hear the whir of the implant adjusting itself.

"If anyone objects to the new regime, you're free to go. Just don't expect a reference." She waited a few tense heartbeats, but no one moved. Sweeping her eyes over the crowd, Hill nodded once. "Dismissed.

~~O~~

The duffle bag over his shoulder, Clint watched the cab drive away after dropping him off. Yawning, he punched in the entry code and waved to security as he walked up the long driveway to the house. He'd only gone a few steps when it began to rain. Spring in the area usually brought about three inches total for March _and_ April. This year they were a little ahead of the game with closer to four. The shower lasted just long enough for Clint to get soaked to the skin by the time he reached the house.

Inside, he threw the bag in the back of the closet. His ride from La Jolla to Mira Mesa hadn't been a long one, but after the day he'd had, fatigue settled over him like a blanket of Iowa snow. He stripped out of his clothes leaving them strewn across the bedroom floor. For just a moment, he thought about soaking in a hot tub to relieve the pain of muscles already sore from the battering he'd gotten when the warehouse exploded.

Standing in front of the mirror, Clint examined his body finding lots of bruises, a few scrapes and a couple of cuts. Nothing major. His head hurt, but not bad enough to have a concussion.

Eschewing the tub, he got into the shower and stood under the spray until he almost fell asleep. Grabbing the shampoo, he lathered his head and without thinking, used it to also wash the rest of him. After a good long rinse, he dried his hair then wrapped the same towel around his waist as he padded into the bedroom and flopped onto the bed propped up by pillows determined to wait up for Natalia. The thought that she might never return didn't once cross his mind.

To stay awake, Clint grabbed the remote, tuning to one of the channels showcasing the awards banquet to see what effect, if any, his fight and subsequent make-up with Logan Carter had for the two of them. As far as Clint was concerned, the matter was settled. But that probably wouldn't be the case with the media and fans. _Too damn bad! _He refused to explain himself or apologize to anyone else for his behavior.

Opening the bedside table, he took out a small plastic bag filled with white powder. Holding it up to the light, he thought over some of the decisions he'd made in his life, the good and the bad. Mostly bad. "And this is one of the worst."

Clint dropped the bag back into the drawer and slammed it shut, using the remote to turn the music up as loud as it would go then went to the bar to grab a bottle of Jack. He cracked the seal, drinking from the bottle as he went to the kitchen for a snack. Michaela had been to the grocery store so there was plenty to be had. From the freezer he took out a pint of Ben and Jerry's, grabbing a spoon on the way back to his room.

For one of the few times in his life Clint could remember, the music got on his nerves so he shut it off and turned the television back on. Eventually, he came to a channel showing a classic animation marathon. Turning the volume up loud so he'd stay awake, Clint scooped out a spoonful of ice cream, taking his time about eating it. He followed it with a swig from of the Jack, laughing at the antics of Ren and Stempy.

**Earlier That Same Day**

Though the roads were slick from a spring rain, Sam McCloud, sheriff of Waverly, Iowa, still put the pedal to the metal as soon as the call came in of a multi-car pile-up on the highway. Another thirty-two yards and the call would've gone to Black Hawk County and Sam would still be sitting at the dinner table with his wife and college age kids. He'd only had a couple of bites of Margaret's meatloaf when the call came in. The dispatcher might not have called if it hadn't been for the fact that one of the vehicles belonged to an old high school buddy and his wife.

Sam eased down on the brake pedal as he came to Dawson's Curve, stopping behind the ambulance. Bobby and Desiree were just sliding a stretcher into the coroner's wagon as he got out, the expressions on their faces telling him there hadn't been any survivors. He nodded a greeting but didn't speak. What could he say that would make it right for the families of those who'd died? It was all a tragic accident. There was no way to spin the loss of life into something positive.

"Yo, Sheriff." Deputy Cutter Sims jogged to his side. "Sorry we had to call ya. This one's messy."

"Just hit the high spots, Cutter." The two men walked toward the site of the crash, glass, pieces of metal and plastic scattered over both sides of the road. Folks wouldn't like taking the long way 'round, but that was too bad. No one was coming through the area until their investigation was complete.

"Sure, boss. Four vehicles total. Two sedans, one SUV and a pick-up." Cutter pointed at each twisted hulk in turn. "The blue sedan is from Minnesota. GPS says they were on their way to Des Moines. Family of four, mother, father, two kids under the age of twelve. All died on impact according to Bobby. That SUV's Rocky Mayfield's. His wife was drivin'. She died just as they was puttin' her in the ambulance. The pick-up's Elder Ponce's. He wasn't wearin' his seatbelt again and flew right through the windshield. Near cut in two when we found him partway down the embankment. If I'd had supper, I'da lost it."

All while Cutter talked, Sam nodded just to show he was listening. "And the fourth vehicle?"

The men came around the last of the curve bringing the full horror of the scene into Sam's view. Cutter just stuck his thumbs into his belt and sighed loudly. The second sedan was very familiar to the law keepers of Bremer County, the owner having been stopped on numerous occasions, usually for driving under the influence. The man's license had been permanently suspended three years before, yet he refused to stop driving himself around town. Sam had tried many times to convince the guy to let his wife do the driving, but no one told Harold Barton what he could and couldn't do. Not the cops, and especially his wife, Edith. As far as Sam was concerned, she had to be a candidate for sainthood for putting up with that drunken ass**** for forty-five years. Forty-nine if you counted the years of courtship prior to the wedding.

"Boss, you want I should call the next o' kin for you?"

Sam wanted to say yes, but as sheriff, it was _his_ duty. He clapped a hand on Cutter's shoulder and squeezed. "Thanks for the offer, but I got this. Harold and Edith's kin'll be the hardest to contact. I might be able to reach the older boy through the FBI. He'll know how to get in touch with his brother."

As if his words were a signal, the light rain that had been falling stopped. All around him, the first responders breathed a sigh of relief that their job had just gotten a little easier. _Too little, too late_, Sam thought to himself while Cutter used a small tablet to send him the contact information for the deceased. Something like this was best done in person. Unfortunately, Sam didn't have the time, budget or manpower to travel all the way to Rochester, Minnesota. A phone call would have to do.

Rocky Mayfield had been diagnosed with terminal cancer that had spread to his brain and had been in a hospice in Waterloo for the last ten days. Who knew if he would even understand?

Elder Ponce, despite his name, had been in his mid-forties, and had left behind a wife and three kids, all girls, one of which had left for college just last fall.

Cutter broke into Sam's swirling thoughts with one last bit of bad news. The proverbial cherry on top of one of the crappiest nights Sam could remember. "Boss, me and Frankie did a preliminary investigation, and you're not gonna like it."

"I already don't like it, Cut, so let's hear it."

Using a stylus, Cutter accessed the sketches he'd made. Yes, they had an app for that. "Harold's the one what caused the crash. Had to be goin' at least seventy when he come around Dawson's Curve. Swayed into the oncoming lane, took out the family first, then Lily Mayfield and Elder Ponce. Harold reeked of alcohol and there was an empty bottle of bourbon on the floorboard. Desiree'll get us exact figures on his BAC as soon as the autopsy's complete. FYI – both cell phones were destroyed so we can't get numbers for their boys that way."

Again, Sam nodded. Though Cutter and the new deputy named Frankie DeLane, the first woman and only the second African-American in the Waverly sheriff's office, had done the prelim, Sam always walked the scene of an accident himself. An hour later, he couldn't put off his duty any longer. He opened the door of his cruiser, shed his wet raincoat and climbed inside.

The Ponce home was closest so he started there. After leaving the family crying and holding onto each other, he drove to the station, taking out his cell phone as he sat down at his desk. In case of emergencies, Lila Mayfield had given him the number to the hospice. _This sure qualifies._

Elder's wife had insisted on making coffee, and Sam understood the need to be doing something while processing the fact that her husband wouldn't be coming home. Sam took a fortifying sip from the cardboard cup she'd pressing into his hand as he left before calling the hospice.

After speaking to the nurse, he hung up and for a minute, just sat there with his hands folded in front of him and his eyes closed. After a while, he took a deep breath, his eyes falling on the wall clock above a map of the county. He had a contact at the FBI. It was late, but he should be able to at least leave a message.

Using his thumb, Sam scrolled until he found the number, taking another sip of coffee while it rang. "Special Agent Howard? This is Sheriff Sam McCloud. We worked together on a case…yes, that's the one…Always happy to engage in a little intra-agency cooperation. But that's not why I called. I need a small favor…Wouldn't ask if it weren't an emergency…Could I get contact info for one of your agents, Charles Bernard Barton, or could you give him my number and have him contact me? Well, there's been an accident…His parents were killed in a crash…You wouldn't happen to know how to get in touch with his brother? You _do?_ That would be appreciated. Thanks, Special Agent."

Sam had lucked out. Special Agent Fritz Howard had offered to break the news to Barney on Sam's behalf. As for the younger boy, Barney had listed him as the emergency contact and Howard had passed on the number. He finished off the coffee while he dialed. The call went to voicemail, but Sam didn't want to leave a message. There was no way he'd get any sleep tonight, so he'd keep calling until he finally got someone. Sam was not looking forward to it when he did.

**TBC**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N:** This is another AU of the Avengers, post movie. Many thanks to ladygris for doing the Beta services again.

**Warning:** This story includes explicit and veiled references to drug and alcohol use and abuse.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the Avengers, Marvel, Facebook, Twitter or YouTube. If I've left anything out, aside from the OC characters, I don't own them/it either. Someone else does.

Namaste,

Sandy

How cruelly sweet are the echoes that start,

When memory plays an old tune on the heart.

~Eliza Cook

**Avengers**

**Echoes**

**Chapter 9**

Despite his prediction, Sam McCloud fell asleep on the sofa without reaching Harold and Edith's son. Sam's wife and kids, both online college students, had gone to bed long before he returned home. Margaret had covered his plate and put it in the 'fridge. He nuked it, and against his wife's standing orders, ate sitting in front of the television. With his stomach full, Sam had fallen asleep until awakened by the cat knocking the plate to the floor trying to lick it clean.

He sat up, rubbing the back of his neck while yawning. The cat cried, and he picked her up, holding her in his lap and petting her for a moment. She jumped down and followed as Sam shuffled into the kitchen to start the coffee. While that was working, he used the bathroom, cleaned up the mess the cat made, fed her, and set the dirty plate in the sink. It was still fairly early on the west coast, but he didn't want to wait any longer. This time, the call was answered on the third ring by a man's voice heavy with sleep.

"_Yeah?_"

"May I speak to Clint Barton please?"

There was a long pause, the voice turning angry, "_How the __hell__ did you get this number? We sent a statement to all the press agencies hours ago. Try checking your ****ing email once in a while_."

"I'm not with the press. Name's Sam McCloud, sheriff of Waverly, Iowa. I'm trying to get in touch with Clint Barton and this is the number I was given by the FBI."

In the background, Sam heard a light being switched on and the creaked of bedsprings as the other man presumably sat up. "_I'm Mr. Barton's manager, Phil Coulson. It's Harold and Edith, isn't it?_"

Right then, Sam wished he hadn't quit smoking because he could really have used a cigarette about now. "Yes, it is."

~~O~~

Hanging up the phone, Coulson rubbed the back of his head and swore out loud. Snatching the phone from the bedside table, he hit the speed dial for Clint. It rang once and went right to voice mail. He hung up and dialed again with the same result. Dropping the phone on the bed, he went into the bathroom to relieve himself, grabbing clean clothes on the way back.

Again he dialed and again he got voice mail. Resigned to not going back to sleep, Coulson dressed, stuck his wallet into his right back pocket and his phone into left one. His keys were on the table in the hall on the way to the front door. He snatched them up without missing a beat. The sun was just coming up when he pulled out of the parking garage and soon, he and Lola were on the road.

The trip to Clint's house in Mira Mesa would take over an hour even at this time of day when the traffic was relatively light. On the way, he went to the Java Hut drive-thru for coffee and a muffin. Both were gone long before turning into Clint's driveway. Coulson entered the code and waved to the guards, burning a little rubber in his haste to get to his friend.

As always, Coulson tried ringing the bell and pounding on the door before resorting to using his key. The door opened and he followed the long hallway to Clint's bedroom. The door was standing open and the television was blaring. No wonder he hadn't heard the door.

Clint was asleep on top of the covers, the remote clutched in one hand and a pint tub of melted ice cream on the bedside table with a nearly empty bottle of Jack Daniels, and no evidence that his friend had company through the night. With only a token amount of curiosity as to where Clint's date had gone since she obviously hadn't stayed here, Coulson removed the remote from under Clint's hand and shut the television off.

He tossed the remote on the bedside table, not wanting to be the one doing this, but someone had to be the messenger, and like it or not, it was Coulson's job. Grabbing Clint's shoulder, Coulson gave him a good shake. "Clint! Wake up! Clint!"

Clint moaned and opened his eyes, blinking in the bright morning sun streaming in through the windows he hadn't covered during the night. "Wha-what the hell, Coulson? It's, ugh, what-the-**** in the morning. Go away and come back next week."

"I tried calling, but it went to voice mail."

"Left my phone at the banquet."

Clint tried to lie down again, stopped by Coulson grabbing his arm. "Get up! We have to talk."

"Oh, right. That other thing." Glancing over at the other side of the bed, Clint seemed disappointed that it was unoccupied. "When she gets here we can…"

Again, Coulson clapped a hand on his shoulder squeezing harder. "It's not about that. There's been an accident."

~~O~~

Clint shot to his feet, the last of the cobwebs swept from his mind. "Accident? What happened? Was it Natasha?"

"Natasha?"

"Uh, Delany. Natasha's her real name…"

He stopped speaking when Coulson gripped his arm a little too tight, anguish on Clint's behalf in his eyes. "No. I'm sorry, Clint. It's your parents."

Clint sat down hard on the side of the bed. "Are you… What, uh," he cleared his suddenly tight throat, "what happened?"

Coulson rubbed his forehead. "Sheriff McCloud believes your father may have been drunk and…"

Jumping to his feet again stopped Coulson from continuing. He started pacing and on the second lap, Clint went into the bathroom. When he came out a few minutes later, Coulson had the duffle bag from the warehouse on the bed. He'd removed the tux and the dress and jewelry Natasha had worn the night before and tossed them aside. Clint didn't even remember seeing Natasha put them in the bag. Of course, he'd been distracted at the time because he'd just shot someone. It was traumatic in spite of the fact that Hill had ordered him to do it, but he'd done it, and if shooting her in the thigh kept her from being killed then it wasn't so bad. Was it? "I need to call the airline and pack…"

"I've taken care of your travel arrangements. The closest I could get you is Cedar Rapids. A car will be waiting."

"Thanks." Clint went into the closet, coming out with a garment bag, pants and shirts. From the dresser he took T-shirts, several pairs of boxers and socks, shoving them all into the duffle bag. He started to zip it up, remembering to get his travel kit from the bathroom. "I need a phone."

Coulson reached into his jacket pocket. "Take mine. We'll get you a new one when you get back."

"I'll just get one in Cedar Rapids." Clint closed the duffle bag and followed Coulson out the front door. An hour later, Clint was sitting in the waiting area with his boarding pass wondering not only if someone had been able to get in touch Barney, but also if he would even care that their parents were dead. Like Clint, Barney hadn't been home in years. Clint himself wasn't completely certain how _he_ was feeling, not yet, never mind how his brother would feel.

Clint had avoided going home the last few years, mostly because his father had always been a mean drunk who relished humiliating his sons as well as showing contempt for their career choices. This was especially true for Clint, who, as his father was fond of saying, had foolishly chosen to be an entertainer instead of staying in Waverly, getting married, producing a bunch of rugrats, and working himself to death on the family farm. Harold Barton had never thought either of his boys smart enough to know what was best for them and told them so every chance he got, which was nearly every day until he and Barney left home.

Their mother had taken their father's side every time there'd been an argument. Not that it had done her any good because he'd spent just as much time belittling her efforts to please him. He blamed the men he and Barney had become on her, saying she'd babied them too much when they were young. Harold totally ignored the fact that Barney had served his country with honor in the Army then was recruited into the FBI where he became one of their top field agents. The only thing Dad focused on was the allegations of corruption that had yet to be proven.

Clint getting into Julliard at the age of fourteen and his fame as a musician was likewise ignored, again Harold directing his attention to the scrapes Clint had with the law that resulted in his license being suspended not once, but twice.

No one needed that kind of grief. Not from anyone, and especially not from the people who were supposed to love you, warts and all. Clint had tried hard to be the son his father wanted him to be, but he learned early in life that it was an impossible task and instead, set about creating a life for himself that didn't include the two who had brought him into this world.

But always, in the back of his mind, and sometimes in the forefront, lingered the notion that he should've tried harder to make them understand that he hadn't gone away because he didn't care. Far from it. Clint loved his family, and that was one of his motivations for leaving. A contradiction, for sure, but also the truth because, if he'd stayed like Dad wanted he'd have killed the man and spent the rest of his life in prison, leaving his mother alone.

One time, just once, Clint had tried to talk his mother into divorcing his dad so she wouldn't have to put up with the verbal and emotional abuse. Her response had been a flat out "no" and when Clint inquired as to the reason, she said, "Because then I'd be alone." And that had been the end of it.

"_Now boarding at gate seven, flight 2437 to Eastern Iowa Airport._"

The bruises Clint received from the tumble he'd taken when the warehouse exploded were finally making themselves known, his muscles protesting the poor treatment they'd received in the last twenty-four hours. He didn't have anything with him that would help and it wouldn't have done any good for him to buy ibuprofen or naproxen from the gift shop because they'd become ineffective long ago. These days, he needed something with a little more of a kick to ease his pain, whatever the cause. While sitting in the waiting area, he'd used a payphone to call Dawg for the name of a contact in Cedar Rapids. On the way to Waverly, he'd swing by for a meet.

Coulson had gotten him a first class seat for which Clint was thankful. That meant he could sleep all the way to Iowa. As he stood in line to board, Clint heard whispering from a couple of young women who'd recognized him and were apparently trying to decide if they wanted to approach him. Normally, he didn't mind talking to fans, posing for pictures or even signing CDs and autographs, but today, he couldn't be bothered. He just wanted to be left alone, so when he heard them call his name, his stage name, he ignored them until one of them tapped him on the shoulder.

"You're Jimmy Blue! Fallen Angels! Oh, my God! _We_ are your _biggest fans!_"

Clint gave them a lopsided smile and a "this happens all the time" snort, hoping that would be the end of it. "You got the wrong guy."

"You shaved your beard, but you're _him_," they insisted. "You look better with the beard, by the way. We went to your concert in Des Moines last September. Drove all the way from Dubuque and had to sleep in our car, but it was _so_ worth it! It was totally awesome."

Sighing heavily, Clint faced them with a scowl of frustration. "And I'm sure I would appreciate your praise, _if_ I was this Jimmy person, but I'm _not him_. Now, if you don't mind, my parents were just killed in a car accident and I'm on my way home to make funeral arrangements and clear up their affairs, so I'd appreciate it if you'd leave me _alone_." His last words came out louder than he meant, but he couldn't find it in him to care at the moment.

Huffing, the young women walked away, muttering under their breath about his rudeness, ignoring the fact that he'd just told them his parents had died. Hitching the duffle bag higher on his shoulder and adjusting the garment bag, Clint moved forward with the line and was soon settled into his seat. He stashed his bags in the overhead compartment, buckled his seatbelt, crossed his arms and closed his eyes.

The next thing he knew, the plane was pulling up to the gate at the Eastern Iowa Airport.

~~O~~

At the compound, Hill had all of Fury's personal belongings removed from the office and his quarters. Until the remodeling was complete, she would continue to use her current space. Once she officially moved in, the smaller office would be enlarged for Natalia's use. Fury had wallowed in luxury both here and at his residence while treating his people slightly better than servants. Hill was much more generous than that, but that generosity came at a price. Always a price. She demanded the best from herself and expected the same of those she commanded.

After the reveal of her eye implant, Hill had expected Natalia to ask for details. To keep from being cornered, so to speak, she asked her friend to join her. Natalia arrived just as Freddie delivered fresh coffee and eggs benedict for two. Hill didn't normally indulge in such a high-calorie meal, but the events of the previous evening were cause for celebration. Natalia uncovered her plate, cut a bite and chewed while Hill did the same.

Hill sipped from her cup then set it aside and picked up her fork. "Last night you said that once everything went back to the way it was supposed to be, nothing would matter. What did you mean?"

Natalia swallowed and took a long sip of coffee before responding. "Remember the dreams I told you about? Clint, the man from last night? He's the one. Somehow, he and I are…connected."

"I don't get it. You said the guy was some sort of super-spy assassin. The man I met last night has never handled a weapon before. He's a musician, not Jason Bourne."

"Agreed. But that doesn't change the fact that they're one and the same." Natalia shifted in her seat so she could cross her legs. "You see, I think there's been a corruption of the timeline."

Unable to stop herself, Hill burst out laughing. Attempting to get herself under control, she gasped out, "First it was rock stars spies. Now it's what, astrophysics? Time travel?"

The other woman set her fork down, completely serious. "I'm not sure, but yes. Something like that. I just can't help feeling that it's all…_wrong_."

"What?"

Waving at the world in general, Natalia got to her feet and began to pace. "This. You, me, Clint," her hands slapped against her thighs in frustration, "everything. None of us is living the life we should be. It's outrageous and completely irrational, I know, but I can't help it. Something, I don't know what, is telling me I need to fix it before it's too late."

"Too late? For what?"

She resumed her seat, shrugging. "That's just it. I don't _know_. It's…I have this sense of…urgency that won't leave me alone."

Hill stuck another bite of eggs, Canadian bacon and English muffin in her mouth, using that to give her time to think while Natalia did the same. After a few minutes, she ventured a question. "Assuming for the moment that you're not cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs, what's different about me?"

Picking up the coffee pot to refill their cups, Natalia managed a smile. "In the alternate reality, dimension, timeline, whatever, you're pretty much the same except you work for the good guys. Fury too. All of us really. We're still friends, but not that close. And you definitely don't have that overpriced home on the big island. Don't have the…" she nodded at Hill's eye.

"No?"

Natalia's auburn hair swirled as she shook her head. "You have a condo on Virginia Beach, drive a mid-sized SUV, maintain a modest bank account, and have made several lucrative investments that will allow you to live a semi-active lifestyle of traveling and parties once you've retired."

"I see. How do you plan on putting everything right again?"

Another shrug. "Not sure. Was hoping that making contact with Clint would help bring some insight as to what my next move should be, if any. Maybe I'm just delusional and none of this means anything, but I have to find out and for that, I need Clint."

"You keep calling him Clint, but the guy in the warehouse is the lead singer for Fallen Angels, right?"

"Yes. Jimmy Blue's legal name is Clint Barton. In my dreams, delusions, whatever, he's an assassin and a spy, just like me." She glanced at the digital clock on the wall, pushing away from the table and getting to her feet. "I'm working out a schedule of drills to keep everyone sharp. Want me to copy you on it?"

With a smile and nod, Hill said, "Yes."

"Okay. Thanks for breakfast, and the talk."

As soon as the door closed, Hill's smile vanished, replaced by an ominous glare at the spot where Natalia had been sitting. Maybe she'd been wrong to bring the Black Widow into the operation. After a few minutes, she decided that her original instincts had been correct. She would be a formidable ally. All Hill had to do was convince her _not_ to pursue this fantasy of righting what she perceived, what did she call it? A corruption of the timeline? If, as she stated, there was a way to put everything back to the way it was, then all of this, the power she wielded as the new leader of Fury's operation-and the money-would all go away. She would have to enforce, sometimes bending, but never breaking the law. A humorless snort came from her throat. _That's __not__ gonna happen. I'll see her in hell before I let her take away everything I've worked so hard for._

Freddie stopped the door from closing as Natalia was leaving, stepped inside and closed it behind him. "Sorry to intrude, ma'am, but there's a problem."

Hill didn't like problems. She liked things to go smoothly, but knew that not everything went according to plan. "What is it?"

Planting his feet shoulder width apart and clasping his hands behind his back, he gave her a succinct rundown of the situation. Without expression, Hill picked up her coffee cup and drained the contents, giving her the appearance of thinking it over. "You know what to do."

"Yes, ma'am." Freddie turned on his heel and left her alone.

~~O~~

Returning to her room at the end of the day, Natalia tried again to get in touch with Clint with no success. She booted up her non-networked computer, attached an anti-tracking device and went in search of information. She found his legal name on the passenger list for Mid-Central Airlines, and wondered why he'd suddenly decided to go home. Further searching found an article about the accident that had killed his parents and six others.

She didn't want to intrude on his grief, but that sense of urgency seemed to be increasing exponentially and now included a pall of impending doom. Like something devastating would be happening, not just to her, Clint and Coulson, but to the world.

Hanging up the phone, she dialed Coulson. The call went to voicemail and she left a message for him to call her back immediately because she was concerned about Clint. And though she waited all night, the phone never rang.

None of Natalia's personal possessions had been brought to this place aside from some clothing, which she carefully folded and placed in the same bag she'd arrived with. It was late, so instead of giving Hill the courtesy of telling her in person, Natalia sent her an email to let her know she'd be back in a few days. She didn't need to say that it had to do with their conversation that morning. Hill would know. And if she was able to put everything back where it was meant to be, then when she returned would make no difference. Hours, days, weeks or months.

_What if I can't set things right?_

Natalia refused to consider that scenario so she put it out of her mind on the way to the car. Driving to the airport, she called one of her contacts to let him know she needed a ride. Tyrone didn't ask _why_ she needed to go to Iowa. Just handed her into the plane and climbed in behind her. Once in the air, he kept shooting looks at her without speaking. Finally, she asked, "What?"

"I've never seen you fly halfway across the country for a man unless there was a paycheck involved."

She held his gaze without blinking. "Maybe this time there's a bigger payoff."

"Bigger than money?" He squinted at her. "Who are you and what have you done with the Natalia I know and love?"

Not sure how to answer that, she looked away, taking time to think of a way to respond that wouldn't make him doubt her sanity. "You love your wife and children." Feeling Tyrone watching her again, Natalia huffed. "Ty-y?"

"Do you really think that a woman and man can't love each other as friends without knockin' boots?"

The air of sociability she always enjoyed with Tyrone dimmed. "That hasn't been my experience. The men I've known have been marks or assets with the occasional sex partner thrown in for stress relief."

"That's your problem right there. Sex is only part of the male/female experience and it's not even the most important element. Every relationship has a natural progression no matter where it starts. Friends or lovers, friendship is the glue that holds two people together. Before you love someone, you should _like_ them. Get to know _their_ kind of crazy to see if it's compatible with yours. Be excited about some of the same things, but still have interests outside each other. And…" Tyrone stuck a finger in the air to stop her when she tried to interrupt, talking over her protests, "…being friends first builds _trust_. In the end, it will improve your chances of having a more fulfilling relationship for the long-term. And if that relationship goes beyond simple friendship, once you're committed to one another, you have to keep working at it every day. Make sure your significant other knows you love him or her every day, but don't overdo. Find a balance between apathy and suffocation."

Against her nature, Natalia listened to Tyrone as he rattled off the laundry list of items that made relationships last. Did she want a long-term romantic affiliation or was she fine on her own? She had to admit that the days and nights she spent with Clint interacting with the world in a somewhat normal fashion had been pleasant. Granted, the only difference between missions and now is that she had a personal interest in the outcome aside from getting paid. And life-style choices aside, she could see them becoming friends at some point. Whether they would continue to be lovers was still up in the air. "Have you been reading Cosmo again?"

"What? You think I have nothing better to do than sit around waiting for you to call? I read, I watch television. I go out and experience life. It's not rocket science. It's common sense. _Like_ the person before deciding if you love them. That doesn't mean you shouldn't do a little mattress dancing now and then. But don't let sex be all your relationship is about."

"I'll keep it in mind." Natalia said it and meant it. She _would_ think about what Tyrone said. "Now can we watch the in-flight movie?"

Tyrone, a dark-skinned African-American with a shaved head married to a former Cuban beauty queen, accepted the change of subject without complaint. "Of course. Today's movie is _Love in All the Wrong Places_ starring Jordan Riley and Zora Benjamin. The drink cart will be around in a few minutes. Don't forget to tip your waitress and bartender."

"Bourbon and coke. Ty?"

"Nothing for me. Someone has to fly this thing."

Their bit of bantering over with, Natalia went back to staring out the window. From their past association, he probably thought she pretended to listen then would forget it all once she stepped off the plane. That had been her MO in the past, but today was different. She not only listened, but _heard_ what he said. In all of this business with Clint, her thoughts had only been for herself and how much different _she_ was since the change. Clint was different and that wasn't good, but she wanted to get back to where _she_ was supposed to be. If that meant that Clint, Coulson and whoever else was affected by the corruption of the timeline came along with her then so be it. At least that's how her mind worked.

Then, suddenly, she didn't want to fix this for herself alone. Natalia wanted to fix it for everyone. She once heard it said that when you pick a side, make sure it's the right one.

_I think I'm finally on the right side._

~~O~~

Striding purposefully through the compound, Frederick readied himself for the task before him. It was his hope that once he'd shown himself to be capable of carrying out orders calmly and efficiently that Hill would take him into her inner circle. One of those to whom she would go to when she needed a job done.

If he proved himself, then the only thing standing in his way of becoming her second-in-command would be the Black Widow. His aspirations were high, but for now he'd settle for doing Hill's dirty work. Frederick stopped outside a specific door, checked his weapon then knocked. A muffled voice said, "Come in."

He went inside and closed the door, greeting his host as if they were good friends. A few moments later, there was a series of three gunshots and the thud of a body hitting the floor. Tapping his headset, Frederick said, "Disposal Unit four to Tango-seven-one."

A team of three men arrived within seconds, not at all surprised to find a dead body on the floor. In a cold voice, Frederick said to the leader, "Get that cop out of here before he stinks up the place."

**Outside Cedar Rapids**

The neighborhood was like many in the Midwest. The quiet tree lined streets had a sense of calm and serenity that made one believe the rest of the world was just a series of horror stories made up to scare children into behaving. Clint, more than most, knew that view to be an illusion. Your life may appear to be the ideal, filled with glamour and endless fascination. Attractive, but only on the outside. This street was like that. Pretty, but dirt was imbedded under the nails.

The contact that Dawg had given him ran the business from his yellow and white Cape Cod style home. A boring mid-size sedan sat in the driveway and the garden was filled with an overabundance of plants that were just beginning to flower.

Kid's toys were strewn across the lawn and on the sidewalk forcing Clint to step over and around to keep from tripping. He rang the bell and the door was opened by a woman in her early thirties wearing an apron and carrying a girl that Clint guessed was about two. Though he was a stranger and male, she greeted him with a bright smile and a cheerful, "Hello."

"Hello. I'm here to see your husband. Doug sent me."

"Of course. Please come in." She led him through the living room and into the kitchen where she put the child in a playpen and offered him a seat. Not wanting to be rude, he sat down and accepted a glass of ice cold lemonade. He watched her as she bustled around the kitchen taking out various food items, sugar, flour, eggs, vanilla, cocoa. "My husband was killed in a car accident just before Miranda here was born so it's just the two of us. When he died, there was no life insurance. I'd quit my job to be a stay at home mom and the company had already filled my position. Besides, who's going to hire someone about to give birth?"

Clint sipped the tart beverage and accepted a cookie she'd just taken from the oven. "I'm sorry for your loss. Is that how you got into…"

"Making and selling recreational drugs? Sort of. I started a home-based business specializing in desserts and needed funds to put in an industrial oven, purchase equipment, pay for licenses, that sort of thing."

"You were a baker?"

Shaking her head, she offered him more lemonade which he refused. He just wanted to get what he came for and go. "A chemist, but the only offers I received meant that Miranda and I would have to relocate. Mine and my husband's families are here." She caught him looking at his watch and sighed. "I'm sorry. When you spend most of your time with a two-year old, you tend to ramble. If you'll keep an eye on Miranda for a couple of minutes, I'll be right back."

Without waiting for Clint to respond, she opened a door he hadn't noticed and disappeared into the basement. She was back shortly with a small white box tied with a purple ribbon. The price had already been given to Clint by Dawg so there was no awkward haggling. He laid the plain white envelope on the table while she put the box in a bag with her baking company's logo of two hearts overlapping.

She walked him to the door, but before she could open it, he reached into the breast pocket of his jacket. He heard a metallic click and looked up to see the muzzle of a gun pointed at his forehead, and her smile had been replaced by a dangerous glare. "I'd be very careful if I were you."

**TBC**


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N:** This is another AU of the Avengers, post movie. Many thanks to ladygris for doing the Beta services again.

**Warning:** This story includes explicit and veiled references to drug and alcohol use and abuse.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the Avengers, Marvel, Facebook, Twitter or YouTube. If I've left anything out, aside from the OC characters, I don't own them/it either. Someone else does.

Namaste,

Sandy

How cruelly sweet are the echoes that start,

When memory plays an old tune on the heart.

~Eliza Cook

**Avengers**

**Echoes**

**Chapter 10**

Clint held his free hand in the air. "I'm not armed. Just gonna take out my wallet."

The gun bobbed once. "Slowly. I know how to use this."

Using two fingers, Clint withdrew his wallet, letting her see that he was indeed unarmed. "Just wanted to give you this." He removed a business card and handed it to her. She snatched it away and read it, her aim never wavering.

"Who's Phil Coulson?"

"My manager, accountant, what have you. If you ever want to quit your second job and open a full service bakery, my friends and I are always looking for investment opportunities." She glanced from him to the card and back. "All I'm saying is it would be a shame for your daughter to lose both parents."

The safety was re-engaged and the gun lowered as her features relaxed. "I'll keep it in mind."

Out on the highway, Clint realized that he hadn't gotten the woman's name. Shrugging, he pulled off the next exit and into the parking lot of a cell phone store. He purchased a top-of-the-line phone with an unlimited data plan and was back on the road in less than thirty minutes. Before leaving the parking lot, he sent Coulson a text with his new number.

Ninety minutes later, he arrived at his childhood home, sitting in the driveway just staring at the peeling paint and overgrown garden, picturing himself and Barney playing, riding bikes, walking to school together, and climbing trees. Both boys loved climbing trees. Dad coming home late, angry because dinner was cold or overcooked, ignoring the fact that, if he'd come straight home after work instead of going to the bar, his meal would've been perfectly cooked and they could've eaten as a family.

Taking a fortifying breath, Clint went to the trunk for his bags and walked slowly up the sidewalk. Looking around, he found a rock that had been in the garden since he was a boy. Turning it over, he opened the secret compartment, took out the key and used it to let himself in. Everything looked the same though a little smaller than he remembered. The scent of his mother's meatloaf lingered in the air along with a musty odor that came from the home being sealed during the cold winter months.

Clint tossed his bags on the sofa and went into the kitchen. His parents had apparently gone out immediately after eating because dirty dishes were piled in a sink full of cold water. The coffee pot had been set up for the next day. With a long sigh, Clint turned it on then took a mug from the cabinet. While waiting for the coffee to brew, he returned to the living room just as someone knocked on the door. Through the dusty curtains he could see a man in a sheriff's uniform. He took off his jacket and laid it on the sofa on the way. "Yeah?"

The older man tipped his hat. "Mornin', sir. Sheriff Sam McCloud. Got a call from the neighbor sayin' a stranger'd let himself into the Barton home and came to check it out. But you're not a stranger, are you?"

"No. I'm Harold and Edith's son, Clint."

"Welcome home, Mr. Barton. We're all sorry for your loss."

Clint opened the door to invite McCloud in, leading him to the living room where he offered him a seat. The man removed his hat and sat down on the far end of the sofa. Clint stayed standing. "Thank you, sheriff. Call me Clint. _Mr._ Barton is-_was_ my father. Coffee?"

"No, thank you."

"I was going to call you. The number I have for my brother doesn't work. Were you able to contact him?"

Turning his hat in a circle between his hands, McCloud shook no. "I called a friend at the FBI. Said he would pass on the information. Haven't heard back from Special Agent Howard _or_ your brother."

Not wanting to give away that he'd spoken to Barney recently and that he was undercover, Clint just sighed. "Barney could be on assignment, out of the country, or whatever it is the feds call it these days. He'll show or he won't. I'll just take care of everything myself."

There was a long pause then, "We all grew up here. Harold, Edith, Margaret and myself. Your dad used to be a good guy. Played junior and varsity football in high school, liked to ice fish. Even played bass in a garage band for a while. I helped him restore a '63 Chevrolet Corvette the summer before we graduated."

"When did he…"

"Become the man you knew?" McCloud rubbed the back of his neck. "Harold and Edith sorta got pre-engaged right out of high school. A few months later, Harold was all excited about a job that required him to move out of town for a while. Said it would set him up for life. He was gone less than a year, and when he came back, he was…different. Wouldn't tell anyone what happened. Senior Franklin took him on at the mill where he worked until…" McCloud's words faltered just for a moment, "…Junior Franklin took over when his dad passed, and no matter what trouble he caused, Junior refused to fire Harold. Said he promised his dad he'd keep him on 'till he retired."

Not knowing what to say, Clint said nothing. McCloud got to his feet and Clint walked with him to the door. A look of genuine sympathy was in the older man's eyes. "If you need anything at all, just call the station. Ruby'll get a message to me. Margaret and Edith were best friends, and I'm sure she'd like to see you again. Maybe you'd like to come to dinner one night."

"We'll see." Clint smiled as did the sheriff both knowing they'd never have that dinner. He closed the door behind the sheriff just as the coffee finished. He poured himself a cup, and drank it down in one long gulp. Clint had taken everything in McCloud told him, wondering where his dad had gone for that year and what happened that would turn a nice guy into the callous and uncaring SOB the world had known until the day he died.

Clint picked up his bags, trudged up to the second floor and down the hall to his old room. With his hand on the knob, he breathed deeply a few times then opened the door and traveled back in time more than twenty years.

~~O~~

Clint's room looked just the way it had the day he left for Julliard. Faded posters from the movies _Die Hard, Rambo III, Young Guns and Above the Law_ hung along the wall opposite the window. On the back of the closet and hall doors were posters of his favorite rock legends: Guns N' Roses, Cheap Trick, Joan Jett and the Blackhearts, and UB40. In spite of his mother's wish that he learn to love the classics, fourteen year-old Clint had leaned more toward hard rock with some jazz and R&B thrown in to mix it up.

Sports equipment was piled in the corner where he'd thrown it when told Julliard didn't have facilities or teams. Framed photographs lay face down on the dresser and desk. That hadn't been his doing so Clint could only assume it had been his mother who'd done it. If it had been his dad, they'd have been smashed on the floor or against the wall.

Everything was clean and dust free, the sheets on the bed having been recently washed. Why Mom had taken the time, Clint didn't know, nor did he care at the moment. It was a place to sleep that wasn't his parent's room, his brother's old room or the sofa. After hanging his garment bag in the closet and dropping the duffle bag on the floor, Clint returned to the hall where, just for a moment, he was ten years old again and running from his father's rage. Strangely enough, once he shut himself in his room, Dad would leave him alone. But God help him or Barney if Dad caught them on the stairs or in the hall.

Clint knew that at some point he'd have to go into every room in the house including the basement and attic, but he'd wait for Barney to do that. They could decide together what to do with the house, if anything. Clint would rather sell it and cut all ties with Waverly, but Barney being the oldest, he'd probably inherit the bulk of the estate. Not that there was much beyond the property and Mom's car.

Going back downstairs, Clint went into the kitchen to check for supplies. Coffee, tea, sugar and flour were in the old fashioned tins on the counter next to a toaster, coffee maker, microwave, bread box, and can opener. Along the wall closest to the dining room was the pantry. Only one shelf held food items. Mostly home canned vegetables, soups and jams.

The refrigerator had eggs, cheese, sliced meat, salad ingredients, milk, juice, beer and condiments telling Clint that his mother hadn't been to the grocery store yet. If she'd kept to her routine, she would've made the trip today to stock up on perishables. There was plenty to eat, but he didn't feel like cooking. One of the diners in town would do just fine.

Checking the time, Clint thought about calling the sheriff to see if he could get the number and call the FBI contact himself. But if Barney was still undercover, they probably had no way of contacting him without blowing his cover. That meant Clint would have to do it all himself. It wasn't a problem. It was just that Coulson took care of most of the nit-picky legal stuff so Clint didn't have to worry about it. Now it was his turn and he wasn't completely sure what to do.

Stepping out the back door, Clint scanned the yard and barn. The corral where a couple of work horses once frolicked was falling down. The barn, like the house, hadn't been painted in at least a decade, maybe more. The chicken coop was empty and when he opened the barn door, the odor of disuse assailed his senses. The cows, goats and sheep were gone as well. Over in one corner, the tractor sat covered in dust and cobwebs.

Returning to the house, Clint located the old fashioned Rolodex his mother insisted on using despite the fact that she had a home computer. Some hold habits were hard to break. Like the landline phone that still sat on the small desk at the bottom of the stairs, though the old rotary phone had been replaced with a cordless. He knew why they'd kept it. This far from a large metropolitan area, cell service could be iffy, especially in storms. The landlines would keep working if the cell towers were knocked out enabling them to keep in touch with the outside world.

Clint flipped through the Rolodex one card at a time looking for his parents' attorney's number. He found it under the L for "lawyer." Mr. Tucker's name was crossed out and another written just below it: Montoya, Lourdes "Lori." What surprised Clint wasn't just that his father had hired another attorney when Mr. Tucker had retired or passed away, but that the attorney was of Spanish ancestry and female. Picking up the handset, Clint dialed the number. His call went to voicemail so he left a message. "My name is Clint Barton. Harold and Edith are my parents. _Were_ my parents. I'd like to make an appointment to speak to you about their wills. All I really need to know at this point is what their preferences were regarding funeral arrangements. The number here is 319- 555- 2278."

He laid the handset down, his stomach grumbling; a noisy reminder that he hadn't had anything but coffee since Coulson had awakened him this morning. Grabbing his jacket, dark glasses, and ball cap, Clint decided to walk to the diner. People driving past slowed down to stare at this stranger walking the streets of Waverly. Clint ignored everyone, preferring to keep to himself.

The bell over the door jangled as Clint entered drawing even more attention. He took the booth in the farthest corner. A waitress in black pants and a white blouse came to the table with a pot of coffee. He nodded and she filled his cup, leaving behind a plastic coated menu. The woman looked a little familiar, and as she walked away, he realized she was someone he'd gone to school with before leaving for Julliard. Though they were of an age, she looked older than Clint felt. He thought about introducing himself, but didn't want to embarrass her.

Taking off his sunglasses, Clint perused the menu as Camilla returned. "I'll take the chicken fried steak, mashed potatoes with gravy, green beans and a roll."

"That'll just be a few minutes. Want some more coffee?"

"Please."

She started away then turned back. "Excuse me. Are you Clint Barton?"

"Yeah."

Steeling himself for the inevitable "I'm your biggest fan" speech, Clint was pleasantly surprised when she said, "We went to school together. You 'n me, I mean. Camilla Pratt?"

Nodding, Clint said, "I remember you. Mrs. Buchannan's class."

"Right. I was sorry to hear about your mom and dad. They came in here every Sunday for lunch." Since it didn't matter one way or the other, Clint merely nodded. "I'll get the coffee and put your order in."

Back in less than a minute, Camilla poured the coffee and left a carafe on the edge of the table. She was about to say more, but the door jangled signaling more customers. Clint watched her scurry away with little interest. In school, they'd talked, but hadn't been friends. Their parents knew each other, but only to say hello in the street, the grocery store or school functions. How well he remembered the recital where he'd been scheduled to perform _Für Elise_, but instead had played the more difficult _La Campanella_. He'd just turned thirteen and the scout for Julliard had praised his playing so effusively that he'd wanted to hide the bathroom until she left. Closing his eyes, Clint played the song in his head. Just as he reached the midway point, Camilla set a plate in front of him.

"You okay?"

"As well as can be expected."

Camilla gave him a sad smile. "Yeah. Well, enjoy."

When he was done eating, she offered apple pie, but he declined, paid his tab with cash and returned home. The answering machine showed a dozen calls just in the time he'd been gone. Most were to express sympathy for his loss. Clint rolled his eyes at the fact that news traveled fast in a small town. By now everyone probably knew he'd come home. He played each message just long enough to determine if it was from the attorney, Barney or Coulson and deleted it.

The last call was from Lourdes Montoya asking him to come to her office the next day at ten. Turning off the ringer, Clint went into the living room and switched on the television, flipping through the channels until he found a basketball game, which he watched through to the end. Another game started almost immediately, and he watched that one as well. By the time the second game concluded, it was late. Late for Waverly, at least. In Clint's world, the night would just be getting started. He shut off the television and went upstairs to his room, changed into pajamas and lay down on top of the covers. The twin bed was narrower than he remembered. It was quieter here too, though that didn't bother him much. His house in California was far removed from the major roadways and he lived on a dead end street with only two others.

Unable to sleep, Clint opened the white box he'd gotten in Cedar Rapids, used a portion of the contents, tucking the remainder into the side pocket of his duffle bag. Dropping the box into the trash, Clint opened the window that faced the side of the house and climbed out onto the roof of the porch. As a kid, he would sit out here for hours hiding from his dad and his brother. Sometimes, after Dad and Barney had an argument, Barney would take his frustration and anger out on his younger brother. To prevent another beating, Clint would make himself scarce.

Staring up at the moon, for the first time since morning Clint thought about Natalia. Yeah, she'd said to call her Natasha and he'd said he liked it, but he preferred Natalia. After they'd parted outside the destroyed warehouse, he'd looked back to see Natalia and Hill speaking to a man. Late-twenties muscular, close cropped hair wearing black cargo pants, a black turtleneck and vest, and carrying a formidable looking gun. From that distance, it was hard to tell, but it looked just like the one Barney had been carrying.

Ducking behind a Dumpster, Clint had watched for a while to see if his brother joined them. Barney appeared and one other appeared, and Clint had breathed a sigh of relief. They hurriedly left the area when the sound of the first responders drew near and Clint had done the same.

Clint was just about to go back inside when he heard a car come down the road and pull into the drive. A little on edge, he climbed in the window, grabbed a baseball bat and made his way downstairs. His bare feet made no sound on the stairs as he approached the front door. There were footsteps on the porch just before someone knocked. At the living room window, he peeked out relieved that it was someone he sort of knew. He unlocked the door and opened it leaving the screen door shut. "Camilla. What're you doing here?"

She had her purse over one shoulder, both hands holding the strap as she shifted her feet nervously. "I called, but there was no answer so I took a shot and came over."

"Why? It's not like we were friends."

She touched her hair self-consciously. "You were so sad tonight I thought maybe you could use some cheerin' up. Someone to, you know, talk to."

The last part trailed off as if she decided in mid-sentence that coming to his house had been a bad idea though he got the feeling that cheering him up wasn't her sole purpose for being here. "Not in a talking mood, but if you'd like a beer…"

Her expression brightened in a way that told him he'd been right. "Sure."

Clint brought two beers from the kitchen, handing one to Camilla. She'd already taken a seat in his mother's rocking chair making more childhood memories resurface. He quashed them before they could become fully integrated into his conscious mind. Flopping onto the sofa, he swigged the beer then set it aside. "What've you been doing since high school?"

"Took a few courses at the junior college. Got married and divorced. No kids." She traced a design in the condensation coating the bottle. "No need to ask what you've been doing. It's all over the news."

"Yeah, well they tend to blow everything out of proportion."

Camilla snorted. "So slugging Lucas Carter at the awards banquet was fake?"

He shook his head. "No. _That_ was real. So was the apology and talk of a collaboration CD afterwards. It's all good. Problem is the punch is all anyone's going to remember."

"Why'd you do it? Hit him, I mean." She sensed his reluctance to talk about the incident. "I won't sell the story to the press. I promise."

Shrugging, Clint got to his feet and walked to the fireplace, leaning against it with one hand while the other rubbed the back of his neck. "There's no story. But two world famous recording artists in a friendly brawl? Who doesn't wanna read about that?"

"_I_ didn't, but I did anyway. Couldn't help it."

"You and over a million others." Turning to face her, Clint shoved his hands into his pockets.

The chair creaked as she rocked. "What about your date?"

Shrugging, he looked at the floor knowing that the next words out of his mouth would be a lie, hoping she would see it. "She's just a friend. Needed a plus-one and she offered." Another shrug. "Can we not talk about it anymore?"

The chair rocked back and forth, Camilla using that small amount of momentum to help her stand. Not that she needed it. She was a little on the zaftig side, as Jared would say, though he could see the muscle underneath. Standing in front of him, she reached passed him to set the bottle she was holding on the mantle, purposely brushing up against him. Just like when they were kids, she and he didn't really click as friends, but she was a woman, and he felt his body reacting accordingly. From the look in her watery brown eyes, she knew it too. Her hands pressed against his chest, sliding up and around his neck. This close, she smelled of coffee, grease and stale cigarette smoke. "We don't have to talk at all."

Clint returned her kiss with minor enthusiasm, though more out of a need for physical closeness than because he was attracted to her. He led her to the sofa, his hand finding the buttons of her blouse and opening them one at a time while Camilla grabbed handfuls of his hair and pulled a little too hard. Separating their lips, he kissed along her jaw, murmuring in her ear. Then, suddenly she was standing over him and he was looking up at her. Pretending confusion, he ran a hand through his hair. "What's wrong?"

She buttoned her blouse with quick, angry motions. "Ya know it may've been a while since I've done it, but I'm pretty sure _this_ is what happens when you call a woman by another woman's name when you're about to…you know."

Camilla grabbed her purse and jacket, almost running into another woman standing in the middle of the living room floor. Clint stood up looking from one woman to the other, stopping on the newcomer. "Nat?"

Camilla's head whipped around, glaring first at him then she pointed at Natalia. "_This_ is Nat? The one you said was just a _friend?_" To Natalia she said, "Your boyfriend's a real _jerk._"

Natalia jumped out of the way when Camilla shoved the screen door open. She and Clint watched her get into her car and back out of the drive as if demons were chasing her. When their eyes met, he stepped back to let her in then closed the door again. Motioning to the sofa, Clint waited until she was seated to drop into the armchair.

One side of her mouth turned upward. "If you're my boyfriend, does that mean we're going steady?"

"Ha-ha." Clint waved a hand. "Why are you here?"

"I heard about your parents and came to offer my condolences." Natalia pointed over her shoulder in the direction of the departed Camilla. "A girl in every town, huh, Clint?"

Frustrated and angry, but mostly annoyed that Camilla had gotten his motor running and now he was just sitting in the driveway, Clint snatched up his beer and drained it. He grabbed the bottle Camilla left on the mantel on his way to the kitchen forcing Natalia to follow in order to continue their conversation. "Would you like to stay the night?"

"There's a motel out on the interstate that has a vacancy, but if you want company, I'll stay."

Clint took another beer from the 'fridge, opened it, and started drinking it without offering one to his guest. She cleared her throat and nodded. Belatedly, Clint waved a hand for Natalia to help herself, which she did. "Nothing happened with Camilla."

Smirking, Natalia returned to the living room. "And, if I hadn't let myself in, would that nothing have turned into something?"

She insinuated herself into the armchair. Probably to avoid sitting next to him and Clint didn't blame her. He'd let his traitorous body lead the way when his head should've been in control. He blamed it on the circumstances, and the fact that he'd needed comfort. Camilla, like Alcina, had been there and was more than willing. Clint doubted Natalia would be as amenable to providing that comfort after catching him making out with the first woman he'd talked to when he got to town. "Not denying it was a possibility. Not jealous, are you?"

That smirk turned to genuine puzzlement. "Why would I be?"

Mentally comparing the two women, Clint could see how Natalia would be confused by his question. Shaking his head, he resisted smiling though there was nothing humorous in their conversation. "No reason."

~~O~~

Sitting in the armchair, Natalia let her gaze travel over the room, trying to see it as it would've been when Clint was a child. From what he told her, his childhood had little to recommend it. Hers was the same, but she didn't regret it because it brought her to the point where she and Clint were starting to become friends.

On the floor next to the chair sat a quilted bag filled with yarn, paper patterns and a circular frame. Clint's mother must've sat here most nights knitting or doing cross-stitching. Natalia seemed to remember her own mother doing something similar only her purpose had been to sell the items in order to help put food on the table and a roof over their heads. Whether she continued to do so after her parents had basically sold their only daughter into slavery Natalia never found out. Didn't _want_ to know. Someday, she might do a search just to see if they were still alive, but not today.

If she squinted with her mind, she could see Clint's father watching a sports program while the boys did their homework at the table in the kitchen during a long, cold winter.

An upright piano was pushed up against the wall. There was no dust on it, but Natalia got the feeling that it hadn't been used since Clint left for Julliard.

Clint rested the ankle of one leg on the knee of the other, again fidgeting with the hem of his pants leg, and staring at a spot six inches in front of his nose. There was only the one end table lamp on leaving most of the room in darkness. Light fell on the sofa cushions, only the edge touching Clint's thigh. Just enough light for Natalia to see his unreadable expression as he took a long drink of beer then held the bottle.

She was about to ask where she would be sleeping when Clint asked, "Tell me more about the other Clint. What's he like?"

"You've been having similar dreams. Why don't _you_ tell _me?_"

"I would like to hear _your_ point of view on his character."

There was a small table on the right side of the chair. Natalia set the bottle on an ancient cork coaster and got to her feet. Wandering over to the fireplace, she looked at the photos of Clint's family. In most, they appeared happy, in others she could see their smiles were strained. "It's been coming to me in bits and pieces for weeks. I'm not sure how this all started, but I can see myself in a huge room, longer than a football field with a ceiling that's at least four stories high. There are computers and other equipment sitting everywhere, and so many cables crisscrossing the floor you have to be careful where you step. In this room, I'm up high looking down on everyone."

"Why?"

She chuckled. "It's _your_ fault." Picking up a framed photo, she carried it over and put it in his hands. "How old are you here?"

Peering at the photo, Clint rubbed a thumb over the glass finding it dusty. He tilted it into the light until he was satisfied. "About six, I think. It was taken on at a studio in Waterloo. On the way back, we had a flat tire and almost ran off the road into a ravine. Deputy said we were lucky no one was killed."

Keeping her features neutral, Natalia took the photo and replaced it on the mantel. Somehow, she'd stumbled on the point where the timelines diverged. In her dreams, Clint's parents were killed in a car accident caused by a hunter whose shot had gone wild and blew out the tire. Thinking furiously, she came up with a plausible lie. "When you were older, did either of you think about running away from home?"

"Barney mentioned it, but we never did. He kept saying he was going to join the military after high school, and that's just what he did."

Natalia nodded. "In the other timeline, the two of you ran away when you were twelve and he was sixteen. You joined the circus and worked as roustabouts for about a year. Then, two men who performed tricks with bows and arrows, knives, swords and such begin training you as their protégé. You prove to be an exceptional student, eventually earning the nickname The Amazing Hawkeye due to the accuracy with which you could hit a target."

"Huh. Guess that's why the bow caught my eye the other night."

She sat beside him on the sofa turned to the side so she could see his face. "You stayed with that circus for several years until you had a falling out with your mentor. You performed with two other circuses over the next few years.

"One day, you decided that you didn't want that life anymore and struck out on your own. You'd been hitchhiking around the U.S. and Canada when you got stranded in a small town in Texas. There, you were approached by a man by the name of…"

Clint's sudden sharp inhale told Natalia that he was remembering something too. After a moment, he said, "Coulson. Phil Coulson. He's my manager now, but in that other timeline, he's my…"

"_Our_."

"_Our_ boss and we all work for that guy, the one at the hotel. But how can that be? What changed?"

Natalia lied like her life depended on it, and maybe it did. "Don't know." A sudden wave of fatigue made her yawn. "I haven't slept in almost two days. Mind if we pick this up in the morning?"

"Okay." Making an after you gesture, Clint followed her up the stairs. "The choices aren't as appealing as last time." He pointed to the second door on the right. "Barney's room…" there was a moment's hesitation, and in the end, Clint didn't open the next door either, "Mom and Dad's room or you can take the sofa."

Though he didn't offer, Natalia wanted Clint to know that she cared about him and was more than ready to offer comfort. He looked down at her and she smiled to let him know what she had in mind and it had nothing to do with sleeping. At least not right away. "Which one's yours?"

Still holding her hand, he drew her to the room at the far end of the hall, shoving the door open with a flourish, that same hand switching on the light. "It's only a twin, but if you're sure."

"Hmm. Got a sleeping bag or extra blankets? We could make a bed on the floor."

Going to the closet, Clint rummaged around until his hand closed over a roll of black fabric. "Just remember, I was fourteen the last time I slept in this room."

Glancing around, Natalia took in the décor typical for a teenage boy at the beginning of puberty. "I won't tease. Promise."

Clint pulled a sleeping bag from the top shelf of his closet and dropped it on the floor. To show that she was as invested in this as he, she untied the string and rolled out the waterproof material. Splashed across the front was the word Akira in block letters, a bright red motorcycle and a young man holding a large weapon while scowling out at the world. Though Natalia had never been into it, she could see the allure of anime to a fourteen year-old boy. She unzipped the bag so it would lie flat with the soft cotton inside facing up covering up the character.

"Heads up," Clint shouted a second before tossing two pillows at her. Natalia positioned them as if it were a double bed while Clint went out into the hall, returning with a sheet and blanket so he wouldn't have to unmake the bed.

On her knees, Natalia held out her hand and Clint took it as he knelt in front of her. He turned their hands palm to palm weaving their fingers together reminding her of the night she broke into his house. She brought her other hand up to touch him on the cheek before leaning in to kiss him. His free hand went around her waist as they sank down onto the thick padding of the make-shift bed. Their clothes were discarded and they were soon engaged in a dance as old as time.

On the bedside table, Clint's cell phone vibrated with an incoming call, the ID showing Coulson's smiling face, but Clint was too busy to notice. It stopped as the call went to voicemail.

"_Clint, I need you to call me as soon as you get this. And whatever you do, __don't__ watch the news __or__ talk to the press. Just __call__ me. Please._"

**TBC**


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N:** This is another AU of the Avengers, post movie. Many thanks to ladygris for doing the Beta services again.

**Warning:** This story includes explicit and veiled references to drug and alcohol use and abuse.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the Avengers, Marvel, Facebook, Twitter or YouTube. If I've left anything out, aside from the OC characters, I don't own them/it either. Someone else does.

Namaste,

Sandy

How cruelly sweet are the echoes that start,

When memory plays an old tune on the heart.

~Eliza Cook

**Avengers**

**Echoes**

**Chapter 11**

Morning came and Natalia lay with her eyes closed. She patted the other side of the bed finding it empty. Sitting up, she looked around. Clint's pajamas were on the bed next to his duffle bag. The faint smell of coffee reached her nose bringing her awake with a start. She gathered her clothes and padded barefoot to the bathroom before going downstairs. Clint was in the kitchen standing at the stove. Using a spatula, he scooped the contents of the pan onto a plate just as the toaster popped. He dropped a slice of toast onto each plate and turned with one in each hand surprised to see her standing in the doorway. She came forward as he set the plates on the kitchen table, presenting herself for a kiss. "Morning. This looks good."

He poured them each a cup of coffee then joined her at the table. "It's just scrambled eggs and toast. Pretty much the limit of my cooking abilities."

"I'm not picky." And to prove it, Natalia picked up the fork and began eating. The eggs were a little overdone for her tastes, but fine. While she chewed, she spread some of the homemade raspberry jam on the toast and took a bite. The sweetness exploded on her tongue, leaving a slightly tart aftertaste. "Mmm."

"Mom always canned enough jam, vegetables and soups to last through winter because Dad didn't like store bought." Natalia nodded as she chewed another bite wondering how to get past this awkward morning after small talk and onto other matters when Clint took the initiative. "I, uh, have an appointment with the attorney at ten. I'll probably go to the funeral home after that. We can meet up and have lunch later, take a walk, whatever you want."

Without actually saying so, Clint indicated he didn't want her with him while he spoke to the attorney. Not a problem. She could go shopping, take a run or perform a few martial arts routines to pass the time. "I'll just stay here, if that's okay."

"Sure." Clint looked at the clock, shoveled the last bite of food into his mouth, and followed it up with coffee. He left the dishes on the table and rushed from the room leaving Natalia alone.

She wasn't insulted or hurt by his rudeness because she understood that he was dealing with strong emotions. He'd loved his parents in spite of the way he and his brother had been treated. Something like that would unsettle even the most stable of personalities, an appellation that did not apply to Clint. No matter what he said or how he acted in front of an audience, she knew he was teetering on the edge of an abyss from which he might never return. That thought led her to wonder what would happen to him _and_ to her if there turned out to be no way to get their world back on track.

Instead of belaboring the subject, Natalia pushed away from the table and carried the dishes to the sink. She scraped the leftover food into the trash, set all the dishes in the sink and filled it with hot soapy water. While they soaked, she used a sponge to wipe down the table and stove. She was nearly done when Clint's footsteps pounded down the stairs, across the foyer and out the front door. Again, she had no feelings one way or the other about his attitude. They weren't in a relationship that required him to account for his whereabouts to her or anyone else. Even if they were, he's an adult and could come and go as he pleased.

After meeting with the attorney and making the funeral arrangements, he would probably need some time alone. And while she waited, meditation would bring out more details from the other timeline so she would be better armed when they finally did sit down and talk.

Natalia finished washing the dishes, let the water out and dried her hands. Taking the keys from her rental out of her pocket, she retrieved her luggage and carried it up to Clint's room. Curiosity got the best of her and she went back into the hall and opened the door to Barney's room. It was much like Clint's, but with more posters of scantily clad women. The room was clean and well cared for, and Natalia had a hunch that it was his mother who had kept the boys' rooms prepared, absolutely certain that one day they would return home. And they did, but now it was too late to put all the old hurts aside, to ask for forgiveness or to request it. She backed out pulling the door shut then went to the door across from the bathroom. After a moment's hesitation, she turned the knob and went inside.

~~O~~

Lourdes Montoya's office was in an old stone building above a dentist office and across from a chain sandwich store. A gas station squatted on the opposite corner. All in all, not much had changed in the years Clint had been gone. A few more strip centers, more gas stations, a lot more people and traffic. There used to be only one funeral home in town, Jeter and Sons, but now there were three. He was here now to find out which of the three he needed to call, and if the arrangements for caskets and burial plots had been taken care of or if they were to be cremated. If they'd left no instructions, that's the way he would go. Not to avoid the expense, but so he could scatter their ashes someplace suitable. Mom would go in the garden and Dad…Clint had no idea what to do with his father's ashes, if that's how this went. He climbed to the stairs and knocked on the pebbled glass door painted with the attorney's name. A voice called out, "It's open!"

Inside, Clint found an atypical attorney's office. Dark wood gave the room a gloomy yet dignified appearance. It also contained a few modern pieces as if the occupant were in the process of changing out the heavy furniture to make the atmosphere lighter and more inviting thereby allowing the clients to be more at ease during times of emotional turmoil.

Bookshelves were stacked with books in varying sizes and thickness, mostly hardbacks. There were framed photos on the shelves and the desk along with other mementos of the woman's life.

The woman herself was a surprise. She was close to Clint's age with light brown hair and eyes the color of good bourbon. Because she was sitting, he couldn't tell her height, but from what he could see, she was trim and shapely. A gold band on her left hand glinted in the light as if signaling that she was married. On the wall behind her were several examples of children's art of the sort usually posted on the refrigerator. As he approached the desk, he could see that one of the photos on the bookshelves was of the attorney, a dark-haired man the same age and a boy approximately three.

She stopped typing and stood, one hand extended, her expression halfway between welcoming and solemn considering his reason for being there. "Mr. Barton, I'm Lourdes Montoya. Please call me Lori. Thank you for coming. I know you've been hearing this a lot, but I want to express my condolences. Your parents have been my clients since Julius Tucker retired four years ago."

They shook hands and Clint was surprised at the strength and warmth in her grip. She sat down and he took the left chair facing the desk. "Please, call me Clint, and thank you for seeing me so quickly. As I said, I don't need any details from their wills aside from how to handle their funerals. Anything else can wait."

"I'm more than happy to ease that particular worry for you." Lori pulled a stack of paperwork toward her, opening the top folder. "Both of your parents have requested cremation and your mother wants a small memorial service. It's all been arranged with Jeter and Sons. All you need do is let them know date and time."

"I appreciate everything you've done for my parents, Lori. Can you tell me when the wills might be read? Not that I'm in a hurry. We'll wait for my brother. Just curious."

Lori nodded understanding. "Generally, a will may be read any time after the death and burial of the deceased. The actual execution of the will has to wait for official validation and approval. That's done at local probate court and may take several weeks, sometimes longer depending on the size of the estate, those named in it, and how long it takes to locate them."

Clint just looked at his hands, rubbing them together as he again tried to wrap his mind around the fact that his parents were gone. He wished Barney were here so he didn't have to do this. As the first born, it would be his brother's duty to handle all the legal crap. _Barney_ should be sitting here asking the questions and making the decisions. "Got it. I'll go to the funeral home then back to the house. I'm staying in town until the will's read, however long it takes. I can't imagine they had much more than the house and their cars since Dad sold the farmland."

"I can go over it with you now, if you like. Just understand that it hasn't been approved by the probate court yet."

Before she finished making the offer, Clint was already shaking his head. "It can wait. Whatever they left me, if anything, I'm signing over to Barney anyway." He got to his feet and Lori walked him to the door. The office was small enough that she didn't have a receptionist, just a part time paralegal.

They shook hands, Lori's pretty face still sad. "Again, I'm sorry for your loss, Clint."

Clint took the stairs down to the first floor and stood on the sidewalk for a few minutes just breathing deeply. His eyes flew open when a horn startled him. He looked up to see a carful of teenage girls waving. One shouted, "We love you, Jimmy!" then the motor revved and they took off. He'd been hoping that no one would recognize him here in his home town except as Harold and Edith's younger son.

Instead of getting in his car, Clint walked the three blocks to the funeral home. His parents had already made all the arrangements so all he had to do was make a few minor decisions and it was done. A tentative memorial service was scheduled for a week from today day. He hoped that gave Barney enough time to get there. Getting back in his car, Clint drove around aimlessly until he remembered that Natalia was at the house alone. Feeling like a rat-ass b***** for leaving her alone so long, he headed for home.

He pulled into the driveway, got out and went to the mailbox. It was empty telling him that the postal carrier had been told that the occupants had died. Good. Another thing he didn't have to worry about.

Clint had just hit the front porch when he heard another car coming down the road. Clint waited while the sheriff parked and crossed the yard. Something about the look on his face set off alarms in Clint's head, as did his tone. "Could I have word, Clint?"

"Of course, Sheriff." Clint motioned him toward the chairs. "Can I get you something to drink? Coffee? Water?"

McCloud took off his hat, again holding it in both hands and spinning it. "You might wanna have a seat, son."

~~O~~

While waiting for Clint to return from seeing the attorney, Natalia had gone for a long run. The alarm on her watch beeped to remind her that he'd soon be home. She turned onto his street just as the sheriff's car passed going a few miles over the posted speed limit without his sirens and lights going, making her wonder what was up.

Approaching the house, she slowed down to a walk. The sheriff and Clint were on the porch talking. Or rather the sheriff was talking and Clint was listening and nodding. Then, his head came up sharply, his entire body going stiff. Whatever the law man was saying, it wasn't good.

Stunned, Clint slowly crossed the porch and went inside. The screen door then the front door slammed. The sheriff kept his head down for a moment then stuck the hat on his head and took the stairs in one leap. He saw her as he neared the cruiser and nodded a greeting. "Ma'am. Are you a friend of Clint's?"

"Yes, I am."

The older man gestured at the house. "He's gonna need someone to lean on for a while." To go by the look on the man's face, it was bad. Very bad. "I just got a call from my contact at the FBI." He shook his head slightly as if he couldn't believe what he was going to say. "His brother just died."

"Died? How?"

"He was murdered. The exact circumstances weren't given to me. All Agent Howard would say is that Special Agent Charles Barton had been undercover with a crime syndicate. They think he was made as an agent and they killed him to send a message."

Natalia nodded, stunned. "Thank you, sheriff." She went to her rental car, opened the trunk and took a card from the side pocket of her bag. "Here's my number. If you find out anything more, call me."

The sheriff took the card, giving it a quick glance. "Can't do that, Ms. O'Brien. You're not a relative."

"Not yet, but soon." Taking a deep breath, Natalia told another lie. "I'm his fiancée."

His eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Don't see a ring."

She looked down at her bare hands. "It's a thirty-thousand dollar ring, sheriff. I don't wear it when I'm working out."

"I'd've thought the fiancée of a famous rock star would want everyone to know."

Natalia crossed her arms and stuck one hip out to the side, adding a scowl for effect. "I'm not a groupie or a gold-digger, sheriff. Clint and I are getting married because we love each other, not so I can use him to further my acting, modeling or singing career."

"If you don't mind me asking, what is it you do?"

It went without saying that telling Sheriff McCloud the truth would cause more problems than it solved, so Natalia lied again. "I'm a ghost writer. Clint and I met when his manager hired me to write his biography. I've been following him around for several months, and one day we realized that we'd fallen in love. So yes, I'll make money from our relationship, but not in the way you think." Letting anger enter her voice, she continued, "If you do a background check on me, you'll see that I am quite wealthy in my own right so I hardly need to marry for it. I also have every intention of insisting on a prenuptial agreement and will insist on Clint having one drawn up as well." When she finished speaking, her tone was so cold she could feel her temperature dropping.

Honestly contrite for what he'd said, McCloud inclined his head. "I apologize for making assumptions, Ms. O'Brien." He nodded, got behind the wheel of his cruiser and drove off.

Turning to look at the house, Natalia prepared herself to deal with this new wrinkle. In just a few days, Clint had lost his entire family, one of which had been murdered. For a man who was already on edge, something like that would completely shatter his world, sending him into a downward spiral. She didn't know if there was anything she could do or say that would keep it from happening. All she could do is be there for him when it happened.

The sound of glass breaking spurred her to action. She hurried inside to find shards of glass and alcohol all over the kitchen floor. The cabinet next to the stove was open, a void showing where a bottle had been. Clint's jacket was tossed carelessly on the table. She cleaned up the mess then went looking for him.

"Clint?" There was no answer and Natalia didn't expect one. On the second floor, she opened each door as she passed, even the closets, but didn't find him. His duffle bag sat on the bed in his room, the side pocket unzipped. Inside, she found several small bags containing white powder and another on the floor. He couldn't have boarded the plane with the drugs so he had to have gotten them after he arrived. But that wasn't important. At the moment, nothing was more important than finding Clint before he did something stupid, even if it was by accident. In his current emotional state, it was a real possibility.

Thinking back to what she knew about Clint and his life in Waverly, Natalia came up with an idea. Something the other Clint had said in her dreams about where he would go to get away from everything. There was a tree out back he liked to climb. But that Clint wasn't this one. There had to be somewhere this version of him went to be alone when he was feeling emotionally exposed. She wracked her brain but couldn't bring anything to mind. "Where _are_ you, Clint?"

A slight breeze wafted across her skin. Scanning the room, she found one of the bedroom windows open a couple of inches. She pushed up and stuck her head out, disappointment that he wasn't there making her huff.

Standing in the middle of the bedroom, Natalia was fresh out of ideas, unless… The only places she hadn't checked were the attic, basement and the barn. Rushing from the room, she went to the door at the end of the hall, finding it locked. It used one of those old fashioned skeleton keys and after examining the lock, she determined that it hadn't been opened in a long time, a year at least.

Jogging to the stairs, she ran down to the first floor and back toward the kitchen. The door under the stairs opened easily though it screeched on unoiled hinges making such a racket that she would've heard it had he gone down there while she was in the front yard talking to the sheriff.

That left the barn. She rushed out the front door, vaulted the railing at the end of the porch and ran to the old building, coming out a few minutes later more frustrated than ever. "_Chyort voz'mi!_"

His car was still there so wherever he went, he had to have gone on foot. But _where?_ And how long should she wait until she called Sheriff McCloud? Being forced to wait twenty-four hours before making a missing persons report was an urban myth. Each incident was decided on a case by case basis. _She_ knew there was an urgency, but would the sheriff see it the same way? He might considering he just gave Clint the news that his entire family is dead.

Returning to the house, Natalia paced the living room floor until she got bored and changed to tai chi hoping to center her mind. It helped some, but not enough. She needed somewhere quiet and dark in which to meditate. The only place that qualified was his parents' room. With the curtains drawn, it would provide a suitable atmosphere. She opened the windows just a few inches for the fresh air pulling the curtains closed again, blocking out most of the light.

Natalia completed her stretching routine then sat cross-legged in the middle of the floor. Closing her eyes, she inhaled through the right nostril and out through the left for five breaths then reversed the process. When she'd done five sets on each side, her mind finally started to relax and allow clarity to get a foothold. And through that clarity, she began to hear music, slow and easy, recognizing it as Beethoven's _Moonlight Sonata_, _Mondscheinsonate_ in German. Even though the piano was out of tune, the first movement segued flawlessly into the second movement, played _allegretto_. As the piece entered the third movement, it sped up to _presto agitato_, stopping abruptly before it was completed as though the artist had lost interest.

With one hand on the balustrade, Natalia stood at the bottom of the stairs. Clint sat at the piano with his back to her though he had to know she was there. He didn't turn around as his left hand grabbed the whiskey bottle by the neck and he drank. He wiped his mouth with the back of his free hand. The bottle clanked against a ceramic bowl filled with silk flowers nearly knocking it into his lap. With an impatient gesture, he shoved it back from the edge then dropped his hand back to the keys and began playing Mozart's Piano Sonata No. 11 in A-major. This time, the fingering wasn't as flawless, owing to the fifth of whiskey Clint had nearly finished, plus the drugs from his bag. She had no way of knowing exactly how much he'd used.

Halfway through the song, Clint hit several sour notes in a row frustrating himself. He slammed the cover and grabbed the bottle again, finishing it off.

Crossing the floor one careful step at a time, Natalia touched him on the shoulder. He jumped at the contact and she squeezed tighter, just letting him know she was there. But instead of taking comfort from it, Clint stood so quickly he knocked over the bench, the top falling open and scattering sheet music over the floor. He brushed her aside, his voice harsh and grating, "_Ostav'te menja v pokoe!_"

Natalia watched him go up the stairs and a few minutes later she heard the shower come on. When the water stopped, she waited to see if Clint would come back down, but he didn't. In spite of the emotional stress, her stomach growled to remind her that it was coming up on dinner time. She wasn't much of a cook, but surely there was something that would do for a meal.

Opening the pantry, Natalia found the canned food Clint had mentioned at breakfast. Each jar was labeled with the date and contents. The saddest were the soups. Several were marked "Clint's favorite" and "Barney's favorite" with recent dates though Clint had told her neither he nor his brother had been home in years. Yet their mother still made their personal favorites every year just in case. Natalia didn't know if it would help Clint to know or make it worse.

Taking down one of the jars labelled with Clint's name, Natalia decided to risk it. She searched cabinets until she found a soup pan, opened the jar and dumped it in. Maybe the smell of the food cooking lure him down stairs long enough to eat something.

~~O~~

When they were kids, Barney had banned Clint from his room. Then the day he left, Clint had gone into the room and jumped on the bed just to because he could. Mom had yelled at him, but he hadn't been sorry. Every time Barney had an argument with Dad, he'd take it out on his younger brother. However, as high school graduation approached, Barney had let up on him, even took him along when he went to the field to play ball with his friends or to the movies. Barney had even tried to give him the car he'd spent years paying for and restoring, but Dad nixed that idea because Clint wasn't old enough to drive. Then, while he was away at school, Dad sold the car. That had been just weeks before Clint's sixteenth birthday. It seemed calculated to piss both of them off and neither he nor Barney had ever forgiven the old man for it.

Now, showered and feeling a little better than he had after speaking to McCloud, Clint took a deep breath and opened the door to Barney's room. In here, like his room down the hall, Mom had kept everything clean and ready to accept the former occupant. But that wouldn't happen because Barney was dead. Dead, and never coming home ever again. Clint picked up one of Barney's football trophies and sat on the side of the bed holding it.

In just a few days, Clint had lost his entire family leaving him all alone in the world. He still had two of the best friends anyone could ask for, Coulson and Jared. The model, Socorro had given him her number making sure he understood that she only wanted to be friends, and he was cool with that. It brought his fake family to four. Five if he counted Natalia.

What _about_ Natalia? Were they meant to be friends? Lovers? More? Less? Anything at all? If this wasn't how their lives were supposed to be and everything was put back the way she said it should be, would they even know each other? From what little Clint had heard about changing the past, it wasn't a good idea because there was no way to know what the repercussions would be. When you returned to the present, it could be totally different than what you remembered _if_ you remembered. And who said anyone would remember _anything?_ But then again, if no one had knowledge of the way things were prior to the change, how would they know there'd been a change in the first place?

Clint had seen a movie once where the killing of a single butterfly in the distant past had so changed the world that it had been unrecognizable except to those who had been on that trip. So maybe Natalia wasn't delusional. The biggest question was _why_. Why were he, Coulson, and Natalia having these dreams about different lives? Was it a shared delusion? Did such things even exist? Did other people have the same dreams, but dismiss them as phantoms, products of too much spicy food or an overactive imagination?

Clint's head began to ache, and not just from the whiskey and drugs. Setting the trophy aside, he went into the hall, leaning against the wall when his stomach heaved reminding him that drinking on an empty stomach was always a bad idea. He made it into the toilet just in time. Afterward, he rinsed with the mouthwash he found in the medicine cabinet.

Clint had one more place to go. As kids, he and Barney hadn't been permitted in their parents' room except on rare occasions. He hesitated just a second before turning the knob and pushing the door wide. Stepping over the threshold was like walking into a different world. A place that he'd visited only a couple of times, and remembered fondly.

Not much had changed since the last time he'd been in this room. The furnishings were the same, though faded and worn with age. The lamps on the bedside tables were new as were the linens on the bed. The wall to wall carpeting had been replaced with an area rug allowing the hardwood floor to show through. A vanity sat against the wall nearest the bathroom door, his mother's jewelry box, cosmetics, a brush and comb set, and photographs of Clint and his brother cluttering the top.

The closet door stood open, ties hanging from the rack attached to the top of the door. Dad had boring taste in ties. Probably why Clint chose bold, in-your-face colors and designs for himself.

Not bothering to check the ensuite, Clint took one last look around and closed the door. As soon as it could be arranged, he'd give the clothing to charity. Probably sell the furniture and the house. Maybe he'd get lucky and someone would buy the house furnished. The only things he'd keep were some of the photos…and the piano.

Standing in the hall with no real idea of where to go next, Clint got a whiff of an enticing scent. One he hadn't experienced since the last time he'd been home over six years ago. He and Barney had come home when Mom had gotten sick. The doctors had expected a long recovery-six months at least, but she'd surprised them all by picking her life back up within two months. In those two months, Clint and Barney had endured their father's company only for her sake.

The smell of his favorite steak and potato soup drew him downstairs and into the kitchen where he found Natalia wearing one of his mother's aprons and stirring something on the stove. This wasn't just _any_ steak and potato soup though. Mom had a special spice she added to it that, even though he'd tried, he could never quite replicate. She looked over her shoulder at him and smiled. "Hungry?"

"A little." He sat down and draped the napkin across his lap. Already on the table were glasses of iced tea, two plates with a slice of bread each and a small tub of margarine.

Natalia set a bowl in front of him and another in front of herself. "I added some vegetables. Hope that's okay."

"It's fine." Picking up the spoon, Clint dug around in the soup watching the colors of the vegetables swirl around in the thick broth. "Sorry about before. It's…"

He stopped when Natalia touched him on the arm, her eyes filled with sympathy. "You just lost your parents and now your brother. That's a hard blow for anyone to deal with. I just want you to know I'm here if you need anything."

Unable to speak around the lump in his throat, Clint nodded while spreading margarine on his bread. Natalia picked up her spoon and started eating. And though he thought he wouldn't be able to choke anything down, Clint finished every last bite.

~~O~~

From inside the abandoned house across the street, he brought a pair of compact binoculars to his eyes, adjusting the focus until he could see through the front window as Clint Barton crashed his hands on the keys of the piano then pushed past the woman. He'd followed the woman from California and still couldn't understand how a rock star and an infamous mercenary knew each other. But they obviously did.

The woman watched Barton cross the living room and disappear up the stairs, the expression on her face speaking of a more intimate relationship than just being friends or acquaintances. If he could get Barton alone, he'd question him and maybe the musician wouldn't end up in prison for aiding and abetting an international terrorist. Though having them both in the same place at the same time was a good thing. He could use their association to capture her and ensure himself a promotion. He'd been doing field and undercover work for too long. It was time to move up to management and a comfy corner office. Okay, so it didn't have to be a corner. Any office would do as long as it had a door he could lock and an espresso machine he didn't have to share.

One hand reached out and came back with cold fries. He shoved them in his mouth and chewed, following it up with a long drink from the soda bottle. The drink was cold just like the food. One out of two wasn't bad when on a stake-out.

Eventually, Barton came down the stairs and went into the kitchen where the watcher couldn't see either of them. Setting the binoculars aside, he checked the weapon nestled under his left arm, shove another into the back waistband of his pants, strapped a third around his left ankle and made sure his knife was in his back pocket. He exchanged the binoculars for a night vision equipped monocular and a Maglite.

He slipped out the back door keeping low as he edged around the side of the house to the sagging front porch, ducking behind a clump of overgrown bushes when several cars drove by. When they were gone, he darted across the street ignoring the vehicles parked in the drive. One belonged to the recently deceased Edith Barton and the other two were rentals from the Eastern Iowa Airport. Just in case, he attached tracking devices to the rentals.

In the back of the house was an enormous tree. With some grunting and swearing, he made it up high enough that he could see in the kitchen window. Barton and the woman, known to most government-run law enforcement agencies as Natalia Romanova AKA the Black Widow, were sitting at the table eating. They didn't seem to be talking much though it wasn't for lack of trying on the woman's part. Barton just didn't seem to be interested. Not that he blamed the man. Family gone. Only a few close friends. Deep into a business that wasn't conducive to forming lasting unions of the romantic sort. Of course the same could be said for his and Romanova's businesses too, though maybe that was changing, at least for her. The sidelong glances she shot at Barton seemed to indicate she had a genuine affection for the man. Whatever the case, bringing her in would be a huge bonus to go with his original plan, and that was to find out how these two knew each other.

About the time his bladder required attention, the kitchen went dark and a few minutes later, the light in the upstairs bathroom came on. He could see in the window, but watching whatever went on in there would've been too much information on Barton_ or_ Romanova, though the woman would've been a more pleasant view, but he wasn't here for that.

Going behind the barn, he relieved himself and returned to his bolt hole across the street where he watched until the light in the upstairs bedroom went out. Now that they were asleep, or whatever it was they were doing, he could get some much needed rest himself so he'd be fresh tomorrow for another round of hurry up and wait.

**TBC**


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N:** This is another AU of the Avengers, post movie. Many thanks to ladygris for doing the Beta services again.

**Warning:** This story includes explicit and veiled references to drug and alcohol use and abuse. Also, the upcoming chapters are very emotional and intense. You've been warned.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the Avengers, Marvel, Facebook, Twitter or YouTube. If I've left anything out, aside from the OC characters, I don't own them/it either. Someone else does.

**Note: **Thanks to Sparky She-Demon for the idea to use the song _L-O-V-E_, by Nat King Cole. _Unforgettable_ was my idea.

;-)

Namaste,

Sandy

How cruelly sweet are the echoes that start,

When memory plays an old tune on the heart.

~Eliza Cook

**Avengers**

**Echoes**

**Chapter 12**

**The Next Morning**

"Sheriff McCloud?"

Sam looked up when the stranger came in the front door of the station, making him instantly as a fed even before all the pleasantries were exchanged. "And you are…?"

The man held his arms loosely at his side, ignoring Ruby and Deputy Cutter Sims. "Could I have a few words with you in private, please?"

The sheriff finished filling his coffee cup, picked up a second one and filled that as well, handing it to the newcomer and giving him a once over that ensured he'd know the man the next time he saw him. "I'd have to know at least your name if we're gonna be havin' a private talk, son."

Not at all put out by the tone, the man pulled out a business card. "Michael Taggert."

Sam looked at the card then at Taggert, gesturing with his head for the other man to follow. Once the door had closed, Sam sat behind the desk, his eyes never leaving his guest. "What's this about, Mr. Taggert?"

Taggert dropped into one of the chairs facing the desk. From another pocket, he took out a small device, set it on the edge near the old fashion lamp and switched it on. Immediately, the radio playing softly from its place on the gray file cabinet squealed in protest. Sam jumped up to switch it off then resumed his seat as Taggert sipped his coffee then set it aside, nodding to the device. "That's to prevent electric monitoring. Oh, and could you remind your colleagues that it's not nice to listen in on private conversations?"

Shaking his head, Sam went to the door, opening it to find his deputy and Ruby standing there looking guilty. "Go take a break. Come back in thirty minutes."

Cutter glanced over Sam's shoulder with suspicion. "I think we should hang around, boss. You know, just in case."

"I'll be fine, Cut. And not a word to anyone about our visitor or I'll tell your mom about that incident in high school."

"That won't be necessary, boss." To the older woman, Cutter said, "C'mon, Ruby. I'll buy ya a piece of pie."

When they were gone, Sam closed the door, again taking his seat. "They're a little overprotective, but they mean well."

Taggert nodded, one side of his mouth turned up in a nostalgic smile. "Been there myself, Sheriff. And we both know Taggert's not my real name, so let's just get down to business, shall we?" He reached into a different pocket, this time taking out one of those leather covers favored by the feds. "I'm with the FBI, but no one can know my real identity or why I'm here."

When Sam saw the true name of his visitor, he was stunned. "But you're…"

"That's what we want certain parties to think. At least for now. Trust me. It's for everyone's protection."

Behind the words, Sam heard the deep concern this man had for those he cared for. "Why reveal yourself to _me_ then? Doesn't that defeat the purpose of being undercover?"

"I need your department's assistance, and knew you'd be reluctant to help if you weren't read into the operation. Can I count on your discretion, Sheriff?"

Though Sam gave the appearance of thinking it over, he'd already made the decision. If the feds had a reason to be in Waverly, it would all work out for the best if the locals were brought in. "Of course, Mr. Taggert. How can I help?"

~~O~~

A week later, the services for Harold, Edith and Barney Barton were held at noon in the chapel at Jeter and Sons Funeral Home. The turnout was enough to fill the room with only a few having to stand. Clint shook hands and accepted condolences once again from those who'd already called or stopped him in the street.

The next day, probate had been completed on his parents' wills, but for some reason, Barney's was being held up. Clint hired Lori Montoya to take care of everything in his absence. He gave her his contact information and specific instructions on how to handle the sale of the home as well as the disposition of the personal belongings. He just didn't want to think about it now.

Clint finished packing the last box, sealed it with tape, attached a label and set it with the others to be shipped. Throughout his ordeal, Natalia had been a calming presence in his life, a sounding board when he needed to talk and holding his hand when he was all talked out. He appreciated the gesture more than he could ever say. Maybe he didn't have to. She just seemed to know. What she couldn't have known was that because she was here, he hadn't used since the day he'd been told about Barney's death. He still felt the need nipping at him in times of stress, but he'd managed to resist, at least for now. Who knew what would happen when he returned to his normal life?

He and Natalia had never gotten back to the conversation about their alternate lives. Somehow she sensed that now wasn't the time. The dreams were becoming more vivid, and when they turned horrifying, Natalia would be there to hold him until he was able to go back to sleep.

Sitting on the sofa, he rubbed the back of his head, elbows planted on his thighs. Natalia came over to sit next to him, taking his free hand and holding it. "You've been at this all day. Are you hungry?"

"I could eat." He watched her walk away dreading when they would get back to the other issues in their lives. To be fair, Coulson should be involved too. More and more, Coulson was becoming an integral part of the dreams, the three of them so comfortable with each other that they completed each other's sentences. Last night, he dreamed of an incident in Budapest with Natalia that was disturbing, but also with an element of humor. He'd awakened to Natalia shaking him and asking if he was okay.

On the nights he was afraid to go to sleep he would lay there and watch Natalia sleep. Sometimes she would be beside him, others, she would be on the twin bed while he was on the floor, or the other way around. It all depended on who went to bed first or if they went together. Sometimes sex was involved, but more often they just went to sleep. One night, his dreams had been so bad the he'd ended up moving into Barney's old room to keep from disturbing her. He'd expected to lie awake the rest of the night, but found being there oddly comforting as if his brother were nearby.

Natalia grabbed her car keys. "Grab your jacket and let's get out of here for a while."

She insisted on driving into town and Clint just stared out the window looking at the scenery, the current view sometimes overlaid with his memories of the past. He was startled back to the present when the car came to a stop in front of the same diner he'd eaten at that first day. At his questioning glance, Natalia shrugged one shoulder. "You've been avoiding her for over a week, except for the memorial service."

Knowing she was right, Clint got out and started around to open her door, but she was already standing on the sidewalk waiting for him. _Man, she makes it hard for a guy to be a gentleman sometimes._ He opened the diner's door and ushered her inside, purposely taking a seat at Camilla's station. Camilla saw them, her mouth tightening in annoyance. She picked up the coffee pot and a couple of menus on her way over, going right into her welcome speech. "Hi, welcome to Bud's Family Diner. The specials today are meatloaf, chicken fried steak, and spaghetti and meatballs."

Natalia gave her one of those bland smiles reserved for the general public. "I'll have the meatloaf without gravy, and coffee, please. Clint?"

"Spaghetti, extra sauce, and coffee."

Camilla snatched the menus up, poured the coffee and started away. She stopped, turned, and came back, speaking to Clint, and pointedly ignoring Natalia. "Ya know if you were engaged you coulda just said so instead of letting me make a fool of myself. I mean, I would've understood."

_Engaged?!_ Clint glanced at Natalia who just looked back with an unreadable expression. He reached across and took her hand. "It only just happened and we're still getting used to it."

His implied apology deflated her annoyance and she smiled. "Well, I hope you'll be very happy together."

She turned on her heel and strode quickly away. At the same time, Natalia snatched her hand back, using it to pick up her coffee cup. "Didn't mean to put you on the spot. Telling the sheriff I'm your fiancée was the only way he'd talk to me about Barney."

"It's okay. Just next time you make something up, clue me in so I don't ruin it."

Again she smiled. "That won't happen again. When we get back to the house…What's wrong?"

Clint wasn't surprised that Natalia had read his expression. She was really good at that. Hiding behind his coffee cup, he lowered his voice. "That guy sitting with the sheriff. I've been seeing him around town, alone and with McCloud, and he always seems to be watching me."

"About six-one, one-ninety, spiked blonde hair, full beard."

"Who is he? What does he want?" He finished off his coffee and set the cup down to pick up his napkin and drape it over his lap.

This time Natalia didn't shrug though her glance at him then away served the same purpose. "No idea. At least not yet. Seems familiar though."

"Yeah." They lapsed into silence when Camilla returned with their food. As she started away, Clint called her back. "Camilla, who's that guy with the sheriff?"

"Says his name's Michael Taggert. I think he's a cousin or something. He asked about you the other day. Says you went to that music school together." Camilla set the coffee pot on the table and leaned close. "I think he's lyin' though. He's always lookin' around, watchin'." That caught Natalia's interest. For the first time, Camilla looked directly at her. "Just between you and me, I think he's a cop. A fed, maybe."

Having said all she was going to on the matter, Camilla left to tend the other customers, greeting the regulars with a smile.

Clint toyed with his coffee cup. "There wasn't anyone in my class at Julliard by the name of Michael Taggert." Again, Clint and Natalia exchanged a significant glance. One that said they'd leave any further thoughts on the matter for when they were alone.

~~O~~

After Clint had gone to sleep, Natalia slipped out of bed, carried her clothes down to the kitchen to change so she wouldn't wake him. The last thing she did was strap a weapon to her right ankle as well as shoving one into her back waistband before leaving the house via the back door.

Creeping through the dark, she slowly made her way through the fields until she reached a point where she wouldn't be seen crossing the street. Then, she backtracked to the house across the way from Clint's-one that had been abandoned for years-and entered through a window in the rear. What she hadn't told Clint was that the man in the diner had been watching them from here as well as on the streets. Tonight, she'd get an explanation of why or one of them would be leaving feet first, and it wouldn't be her. She'd left her Widow's Bites behind, preferring not to wait for him to regain consciousness to question him.

As Natalia climbed the stairs, she listened intently for anything that would give away that he knew she was coming. Aside from the occasional creak and groan common in old buildings like this, there was nothing out of the ordinary. She gained the second floor and crept toward the open door mid-way down the hall running to the right. Pressing her back against the wall next to the door, she counted to three and sprang into action, blocking the swing from her opponent as he burst out of the room.

Together, they engaged in hand-to-hand battle where they were very nearly evenly matched even considering that he was much taller and heavier. Somehow, he got behind her, pinning her arms. Using the wall for leverage, she swung her legs up and over, breaking his hold and coming down behind him. He spun on his left foot, his right fist coming around at the side of her head.

Natalia grabbed his wrist, twisted and jumped, clamping her knees around his neck and taking him to the floor hard enough to make the floor shake. If she continued to squeeze, he'd soon pass out, but that wouldn't get her any answers. He grabbed her top leg, managing to loosen her hold enough to take a breath and say, "Uncle!"

Unwilling to believe he would concede that easily, Natalia held on though she did allow him a little more breathing room. "Why are you following us?"

The man stopped struggling, his body going limp. "If you let me up, I'll explain."

She did so, coming to her feet some distance away, her expression wary. The man sat up with a groan. "****. I'm getting too old for this." He stretched his neck and shoulders then got to his feet, making a small bow without taking his eyes off of her. "May I say that it's an honor to finally meet the Black Widow."

Not ready to confirm or deny, Natalia watched him without blinking. Doing so made people nervous enough to say something out of turn. Not him, obviously. He just smiled back. And unlike most men, he kept his eyes on her face.

"You also go by Natasha Romanoff, Natalia Romanova, Natalie Rushman, and probably a few others we haven't found yet."

Now that they were face to face, she knew who he was, or who she _thought_ he was. "You're Wyatt, one of Hill's cronies. You're supposed to be dead."

To Natalia's surprise, he laughed, gesturing for her to take a seat in one of two chairs in the room. When she was seated, he joined her. "I _am_ dead_._ At least as far as _they're_ concerned."

The man she knew as Wyatt passed her a bottle of water from a cooler then took one for himself. "I saw your body being carried out. How did that work again?"

He took a long drink of water then reached for a package of Oreos, offering them to her with a questioning look. She took one, but didn't eat it right away, motioning for him to continue. "What's that old adage? Reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated." With a casualness that belied the fact that, like Natalia, he could kill someone quickly and efficiently, her host examined the cookie as if it were an interesting new life form. "And like you, I go by many names. Michael Taggert is as good as any." He munched on a cookie, chewing as he brushed crumbs from his hands. Around the last of the cookie, he said, "I also answer to Wyatt Holden, Pavel Glukhov and a few others."

"If you're here to take me in or kill me, that's not going to work."

Michael snagged another cookie and, like Natalia, twisted the two halves apart, waving a hand to indicate both of them. "That was my original intention-taking you in, but we're changin' it up a little." He shoved half the cookie into his mouth, chewed and swallowed. "Tell me about your relationship with Clint Barton."

"How is that relevant to anything?"

Michael exhaled loudly, leaning back in his chair and cross one leg over the other. "It's not, but tell me anyway. In return, I'll tell you _my_ story, but it has to stay between us."

One side of Natalia's mouth turned up in a smirk. "I can keep a secret."

His smirk matched hers. "This one's pretty big. Think you can keep it from your…" Michael made finger quotes, "…fiancé?"

Natalia hadn't told Michael anything about her relationship with Clint, yet he knew their engagement was fake. She twisted the halves of the Oreo and pulled them apart. "I've been in this game since I was seven. Talk."

Michael snagged another cookie and, like Natalia, twisted the two halves apart, waved a hand to indicate both of them. "This might take a while. What if he wakes up while you're gone?"

She shrugged and licked the cream from one side of the cookie. "I'll make something up."

"And he'll believe you?"

"As cynical as the music business has made him, Clint _wants_ to believe that everything I tell him is the absolute truth. Some is and some isn't. Hopefully, he won't find out which is which." Natalia bit off a piece of cookie, waiting for Michael to continue.

Michael yawned while rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. "I'll answer your questions as long as you answer mine. Oh, and let's leave out the 'if I tell you I'll have to kill you' part."

Thinking it over, Natalia took a sip of water and recapped the bottle. "Deal. You go first."

**Mira Mesa, California**

**Two Days Later**

It was almost dinner time when Clint arrived back in California. He'd given the housekeepers and gardeners the week off because he hadn't planned on returning for another four days, but he couldn't take being in that house for another night. By the time he arrived home, the housekeepers and gardeners would be gone for the day and he'd be all alone and didn't like it. For a moment, he thought about calling Coulson or Jared and making up an excuse for why he needed them to come over right away. But they knew him better than anyone and would see right through his lies, just as they had when they called to offer condolences. He said he was fine, but they both knew better. Even Jared had been subdued. Well, as much as he ever was. Clint also knew that if he called either man and told the truth, that he didn't want to be in that big house by himself they'd come right over. He even took out his phone to call them, but in the end, he changed his mind.

Two nights ago, he awakened to find himself in bed alone. He found Natalia in the kitchen drinking tea, eating cookies, and reading one of his mother's out of date magazines, her feet propped in the other chair. Without a word, she brought him a cup of tea and a cookie then went back to reading. It felt all cozy and domestic, like they were a real couple, yet both knew they were only playing house. For how much longer that would last, Clint didn't know.

Each day, he moved closer to not wanting her to leave, and that scared him. Not as much as almost being blown up, but it was in the top ten. Lower than the time he'd been chased by Old Man Henderson's prize bull and higher than the first time Fallen Angels had performed at the fair in front of more than three thousand people. Until that day, they'd never played for more than a hundred or so at a time. Clint had looked out over that sea of faces and almost froze. But there in the front of the crowd had been Barney. His big brother had given him a confident smile and a thumbs up, and that's all it took. After that, even though Barney couldn't be there for every show, he would imagine that his brother was there cheering him on. Later, it had been girlfriends, and Jared a time or two.

Eventually, he learned to get the job done without needing constant reassurance. Though lately, he'd begun to feel that the acclaim he received was unwarranted. Not the band. They were fantastic. And unlike many popular groups, they still got along great. Oh, they had their disagreements and sometimes they didn't speak for days or even weeks, but it all eventually blew over. Sometimes with Coulson mediating. Others, they manage to work it out on their own.

As the limousine turned onto his street, Clint began to show a little more interest in his surroundings though not as much as he should have. Even before his parents and brother had died he'd been feeling…antsy was the only word that seemed to fit, and he wondered if it had something to do with the dreams he shared with Natalia.

Now that she was in the forefront of his mind again, he wondered how long she'd be away. When they parted at the airport, she'd been vague on where she was headed and how long she would be gone though she promised to call or text him if it turned out to be more than a few days. But again, a few days was a relative term that could mean anywhere from three days to two weeks, depending on who you asked. Clint didn't want to wait two weeks to see her again. While he wasn't in love with her, he'd come to rely on her presence in his life, short as it was. She was like a drug, and he'd quickly become addicted to having her near.

Over his shoulder, the driver said, "We're here, Mr. Blue."

Clint shoved the empty water bottle into the trash and checked once again that he had his house keys. They pulled up to the gate and one of the guards came over, his attitude more than a little nervous. "Oh, hey, Mr. Blue. We weren't expecting you back until Monday. Everything okay?"

"Fine. Ms. O'Brien will be back in a few days. Just buzz the house when she gets here."

"You got it." The man tipped his hat and went to open the gate. The limo inched through the gap and they'd only gone a short distance when the driver slammed on the brakes.

He turned in his seat to look at Clint. "You okay, sir?"

"Yes, fine. What happened?"

The driver gestured ahead. "The driveway's full. This is as close as I can get."

His brow furrowed in confusion, Clint released his seatbelt and leaned forward so he could see out the front window. "What the hell?"

"Looks like a party."

The musician agreed. "Pop the trunk. I'll walk the rest of the way."

Clint got out, retrieved his bags from the trunk and walked to the driver's window. He handed the man a generous tip and stepped out of the way while he backed up so he could turn around. When he was gone, Clint continued the long walk up the drive, weaving his way between cars, pick-ups, and SUVs. There were even a few motorcycles. Some old, some new, none belonging to any of his friends. Not to mention that only three people had keys to the house. Coulson had flown to Chicago for a meeting and wouldn't be back until tonight. Clint had just gotten home, so that left only one other person.

The front door was standing open with people going in and out. He could hear laughter and splashing in the pool area, and loud music was coming from the patio where, apparently, a live band had been set up. The drummer was off a half beat and way too fond of the cymbals, and the bass player was completely absent, but that didn't hinder anyone's enjoyment of the music.

At the far end of the patio, the built in grill had been fired up and the smell of beef, pork, chicken and charcoal permeated the air making his stomach grumble. Sidestepping a couple of toddlers playing on the floor, Clint reached his bedroom and found the door locked. At least that was something. He let himself in, deposited his bags on the bed, shed his jacket and went in search of the only person who could be responsible for the party.

As he exited onto the patio, he could see at least twenty coolers filled with a variety of drinks including regular and lite beer. Tables were set up buffet style and held such a variety of homemade foods Clint didn't think one person would be able to taste them all. A young woman barely old enough to drink legally was helping herself to a beer. She saw him and flashed a coy smile. He returned a bland smile of his own to let her know he wasn't interested. She shrugged and handed him a beer. Standing in place, he turned in a circle while removing the twist top.

Clint was just taking a drink when the person he was looking for came dancing across the area directly in front of the band, a man about her age holding her hand. Taking the most direct path, he made his way over to them. She was facing the band and he just waited for her to notice he was there. The lead singer got her attention and pointed. She kept dancing as she turned, coming to a stumbling halt with her mouth open and her eyes so wide they had to hurt.

A few at a time, the others noticed that something was wrong and eventually, all activity came to a stop. Her mouth opened and closed twice before snapping shut. She swallowed convulsively and cleared her throat, saying tentatively, "M-Mr. B. You're not supposed to be here."

The housekeeper's voice squeaked on the end making Clint want to laugh, but he forced himself to remain stern. "What the hell is going on?"

"Uh, I-I…Today is mine and Benny's anniversary. Thirty years. The place where we was supposed to have the party had a water main break. You weren't due home for a couple more days so we moved it here." Clint wanted to take a drink of his beer, but he was afraid he'd choke as he was still trying not to laugh. Instead, he just waited for Michaela to continue, and eventually, she did. "We couldn't find another place big enough to hold everyone and some of our relatives and friends had traveled a long way to be here, so we…" She cast glances at her guests and took a deep breath, obviously expecting that he would have them all arrested. "If you wanna fire me, I understand, but please don't call the cops. We'll clean everything up good as new. I swear on my mother's grave."

Clint had crossed his arms using one hand to cover the smile he couldn't stop. He cleared his throat, and removed his hand to speak. "There's only one thing I have to say, Michaela." Clint turned in a circle to take in the formerly happy faces, thinking _I didn't want to be alone, and now I'm not._ He set his beer on the nearest table, faced the band and said, "This song desperately needs a bassline. Mind if I sit in?"

The sax player handed him the electric bass leaning up against the amp to Clint's left. He checked the tuning and perched on the tall stool provided. To the frontman, Clint said, "From the top?"

At the drummer's nod, he started counting in his head. _One, two, three…_

Clint finished out the set with the band, danced with Michaela, her aunts, and Benny's elderly mother, but avoided dancing with any of the younger women so they wouldn't get any ideas that his interest was other than being a good host. Some of the younger guests teased him into playing volleyball. Later, he got into a three-on-three basketball game with Michaela's oldest son and his buddies. They wiped the court with his forty-year old ass. And he'd loved every minute of it thinking, _I gotta get a better class of friends._

What he appreciated more than anything was that no one had treated him any differently just because he was a celebrity. They hadn't once mentioned any of his brushes with the law or the incident at the awards banquet and his abrupt departure. The only real mention of his fame came when they asked him to sing a couple of Fallen Angel's songs. As a reward, he also performed _Find My Way_. He fully expected to see clips from tonight posted on YouTube, but couldn't summon the energy to be upset or worry about copyright infringement, especially when Michaela handed him a plate holding one of her specialty burgers: angus beef and smoked sausage, a generous slice of melted Monterey Jack cheese, jalapenos, avocadoes, lettuce, tomato, onion, and her homemade southwestern mayo, with a huge kosher dill and a small spoonfuls of just a few of the dishes set out on the buffet table. And for the first time in a couple of weeks, he was actually hungry, not just eating to fuel his body.

~~O~~

About the time the party started winding down, Clint opened the door to the music room and seated himself at the piano. "Michaela and Benny, front and center. If you know anything about me then you know that Nat King Cole was one of the biggest influences in my musical career. This song is quite appropriate for the occasion because thirty years of marriage starts with _L-O-V-E_."

_L is for the way you look at me__  
__O is for the only one I see__  
__V is very, very extraordinary__  
__E is even more than anyone that you adore and__Love is all that I can give to you__  
__Love is more than just a game for two__  
__Two in love can make it__  
__Take my heart and please don't break it__  
__Love was made for me and you_

The audience clapped until Clint waved them to silence. "Let's clear the dance floor because this one's just for Michaela and Benny. It's one of my favorites, and I hope it's yours as well. _Unforgettable._"

_Unforgettable, that's what you are  
Unforgettable though near or far  
Like a song of love that clings to me  
How the thought of you does things to me  
Never before has someone been more_

The drummer picked up his brushes, lightly dragging them over the cymbals. The sax player weighed in as well. One of the female singers picked up the thread and sang with him, a reminder of the duet that Cole's daughter, Natalie had done with her father long after he'd passed away.

_Unforgettable in every way  
And forever more, that's how you'll stay  
That's why, darling, it's incredible  
That someone so unforgettable  
Thinks that I am unforgettable too_

_Unforgettable in every way  
And forever more, that's how you'll stay  
That's why, darling, it's incredible  
That someone so unforgettable  
Thinks that I am unforgettable too._

~~O~~

Michaela, Benny and the last of their guests drove away leaving a silence that pressed in on Clint as though it were trying to smother him. Taking a deep breath dispelled some of that feeling, but not all. He really didn't mind that his housekeeper had used his home for a party. If he'd know, he would've offered. He also wondered if this was the first time, though he knew it would be the last, but only because he decided just that moment to sell the place and downsizing. Sometimes, getting back to basics was a good thing. He just hoped it all worked out.

Clint went inside and closed the door, his eyes scanning the main living area. Somehow, though there were more people here than at his last party, the mess wasn't nearly as bad. Food and drinks had been spilled on the carpet, but at least no one had done something uncivilized in either of the fountains or the pool. After his last party, all three had to be drained, scrubbed clean and repainted. A smaller place would keep that from happening because he planned getting a new place without a pool _or_ fountain. It would cut down on the number of people at his parties and the frequency of same. Plus, he should also be a little more discreet about who he invites.

To the empty room, Clint said, "Why am I even worrying about it? If Nat puts it all back the way it's supposed to be, we won't be here anymore."

Returning to his room, he unpacked, brushed his teeth and got undressed. The feeling of being suffocated persisted, made worse by the sensation of his clothes touching his skin so he lay down on the bed completely naked, not even using a sheet to cover up.

Exhaustion settled over Clint and he was asleep within minutes. The dream started a short time later, and this one was worse than any of the others. In it, he saw his mind taken over by an alien who called himself Loki.

_I am Loki, of Asgard, and I am burdened with glorious purpose…I come with glad tidings of a world made free…from freedom…Freedom is life's great lie.__ Once you accept that, in your heart…you will know peace._

Clint watched himself killing and maiming and destroying under Loki's influence. Clint's mind shattered the moment Loki shoved the point of his scepter through Coulson's heart. It had been Clint's fault. All of it. He'd been the first one turned to the dark side because he wasn't strong enough to resist the force of Loki's attack that had seared through his brain, burning away the good and just person that Clint had been and remaking him into someone who killed without thought or remorse.

Clint awoke to the sound of someone screaming, quickly realizing that _he_ was the one doing the screaming. His body was covered in sweat, but not the normal kind of sweat. This had the stench of fear and self-loathing in it making Clint's stomach clench with revulsion.

Sitting up on the side of the bed, dizziness nearly overwhelmed his ability to control his bodily functions. Desperate, he stumbled into the bathroom, somehow managing to reach the toilet before he vomited every last thing in his stomach. His legs refused to support him and he collapsed onto his knees, the tile floor cold against his overheated skin.

Still shaking, he got to his feet and turned on the cold water. He rinsed his mouth and splashed his face. Leaning on the counter, he let the water drip down the front of his bare chest. When he lifted his head to see his reflection in the mirror, his eyes were glowing bright electric blue and over his shoulder he could see Loki laughing malevolently, knowing that Clint would never be free of his influence.

To stop Loki, Clint rushed to his bedroom and came back with a baseball bat, using it to destroy the image in the mirror, hitting it over and over and over…

**TBC**

**A/N: **"L-O-V-E" is a jazz song written by Bert Kaempfert and Milt Gabler for American singer-pianist Nat King Cole in 1964.

"Unforgettable" was written by Irving Gordon in 1951. Nat King Cole recorded it that same year. The song was rerecorded in 1991 by his daughter, Natalie Cole in a duet with her father that used recordings made before his death in 1965.


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N:** This is another AU of the Avengers, post movie. Many thanks to ladygris for doing the Beta services again.

**Warning:** This story includes explicit and veiled references to drug and alcohol use and abuse. Also, the upcoming chapters are very emotional and intense. You've been warned.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the Avengers, Marvel, Facebook, Twitter or YouTube. If I've left anything out, aside from the OC characters, I don't own them/it either. Someone else does.

Namaste,

Sandy

How cruelly sweet are the echoes that start,

When memory plays an old tune on the heart.

~Eliza Cook

**Avengers**

**Echoes**

**Chapter 13**

Coulson returned from Chicago mid-afternoon, flush with success. Negotiations for Clint's first acting role had taken longer than he thought, but in end, it had all gone better than expected. The executives had offered twice the expected salary for the singer to endorse their product, plus perks. Filming for the first commercial was due to begin in two months. He just needed to convince Clint to sign the dotted line and it was a done deal.

Coulson was trying to decide if he should call Clint or wait to tell him in person when his phone rang. He grinned at the caller ID, a photo of Clint sticking his tongue out and flashing the Hawaiian shaka sign, better known as "hang loose" in surfer's lingo. "Hey, I was just about to call you…"

The voice on the other end of the line wasn't Clint but his housekeeper, Michaela. "Mr. Coulson! You gotta come quick! Mr. Blue's talking crazy and throwin' things. He broke all the mirrors and…"

"Have you called anyone?"

"No! You need to come. _Please!_ He won't listen to me."

Already on his way, Coulson said, "I'm out the door. Just stay out of his way until I get there." He shut the phone off without waiting for Michaela's acknowledgment as he impatiently waited for the garage door to open so he could leave. Lola's engine revved as he gave her some gas and backed out into the street.

He made the drive to Clint's house in record time, counting himself lucky that he hadn't been stopped for speeding on the way. Michaela met him at the door, her words tripping over each other, but he got the gist.

"Where is he?" As soon as the question was out, it was answered by Clint himself albeit with actions instead of words. Coulson found his friend in the bar surrounded by broken liquor bottles. Mixed in the shards of glass were small plastic bags that held the remnants of a white powder. Clint took a long swig from the whiskey bottle in his left hand, his right holding another of the bags still full.

When he saw Coulson, he grinned, holding the bottle and the bag up. "Ya know, if you mix it with alcohol, it doesn't burn goin' down."

Coulson crouched in front of him, peering into his friend's eyes. Clint had fallen into a downward spiral and desperately needed Coulson to be his lifeline. Clint patted him on the cheek, his grin turning to a sad smile. "You feel real, but you're not 'cause _I_ killed you. Didn't mean to, but I did. Not d'rectly, but it was _my_ fault. Lotsa good people're dead 'n it's…" he tapped his chest, "…all on me. I d'serve t' burn in hell."

Michaela had come to stand just inside the room with the gardener. Coulson took the bottle and handed it to her, Clint rallying enough to reach for it as Michaela carried it away. "Hey, I need that."

"Why?"

He tapped the side of his head, squeezing his eyes shut. "To stop the voices."

Confused, Coulson placed a hand on Clint's shoulder. "What voices?"

Clint tapped harder then pressed the heel of his hand over his left eye. "The ones in my head, of the people _I _killed."

Gripping both shoulders, Coulson shook his friend until he looked at him again. "You didn't _kill_ anyone. It's all a dream, Clint. Just a dream. Now let's get you cleaned up."

Motioning the gardener over, the two men got Clint to his feet and aimed him in the direction of his bedroom. He pushed their hands away to walk on his own, Coulson and the gardener standing ready just in case.

"My whole flippin' fam'ly's dead. Jus' like the people in New York 'n all them agents. 'N Phil. All dead 'cause I wasn't able t' r'sist Loki's fancy scepter thingy. He made me _do_ things. Very bad things. I tried to fight, but-but he was…" Clint slapped himself on the forehead, "…inside my head 'n I couldn't stop. Ev'ry time I tried t' close m' eyes, he was in m' dreams, whisperin' into m' brain. Not a moment's rest for _days_. I-I was so tired. Too tired t' fight him anymore, so I jus'…gave up 'n did what he wanted. 'N when I did that, he finally let me sleep."

Clint stumbled and they caught him, eventually getting him into the bedroom. Coulson nodded and the gardener left them alone. With a tight grip on Clint's upper arm, he steered him through the bathroom door, not stopping until they reached the shower enclosure. Coulson urged Clint inside then reached past him to turn on the cold water and slammed the door, holding it with his foot so Clint couldn't escape. The ice cold water hit Clint directly in his face.

Turning his head side to side trying to get away, Clint screeched, "Aaahh! Sonofab****! That's _cold!_ Wh' th' **** are you tryin' t' do, drown me?"

"You need to sober up, Clint. Once that's done, you and I are taking a little drive." Standing with his hands on the wall next to the controls, Clint, realizing that Coulson was serious, let the water flow down his back. When he had enough of the cold, he adjusted the temperature to his satisfaction. That signaled to Coulson that Clint could be left alone, at least for a while. "I'll step out and give you some privacy. Call if you need anything."

Either Clint didn't hear or he decided to ignore his friend. As Coulson closed the door, Clint was reaching for the soap. As he'd done on many occasions, Coulson laid clean clothes out on the bed.

The shower shut off as he dropped a pair of shoes at the foot of the bed, and moments later, Clint came out with a towel around his waist, his hair still dripping wet. He kept his eyes averted in obvious embarrassment. Without a word, he sat on the end of the bed and slowly dressed himself. He seemed to run out of steam when he got to his shoes so Coulson crouched down to help.

Again taking Clint's arm, Coulson got him to his feet and headed toward the door, finally stirring Clint's interest. "Where're we goin'?"

"Serenity Hills. They'll take good care of you."

Clint pulled free from Coulson's grip. "That's a _rehab_ center. You're not takin' me anywhere near that place. I can take care o' myself."

"Obviously not, or I wouldn't have received a frantic call from your housekeeper, telling me you're off your rocker."

Clint shoved Coulson to the floor and ran toward the front of the house. Coulson got to his feet and started after Clint, but before he could catch him, he heard the sound of Lola's engine revving and the squeal of rubber burning as Clint accelerated down the drive. Coulson only hoped the guards could stop him. That hope perished when he heard Clint crash the gate, wincing at the screech of metal on metal. Before Coulson could decide what to do next, Michaela was beside him holding out a set of keys. "Take my car, Mr. C. Stop him before he hurts himself, or someone else."

Nodding, Coulson grabbed the keys and ran to the silver Prius. He strapped on the seatbelt and followed Lola's distinctive engine sounds. Lola's bright red form came into sight and Coulson punched it, nearly catching up with his friend when suddenly a mother pushing a baby carriage stepped off the curb up ahead. Seeing a tragedy unfolding before his eyes and unable to prevent it, Coulson shouted, "Oh, ****!"

At the very last second, Clint yanked the wheel to the left, the front fender scraping down the driver's doors of three parked cars before jumping the curb and smashing into a tree. Coulson slammed on the brakes, jumped out of the car, running to the crashed vehicle. He didn't need to be told that the car was a total loss, but that wasn't an issue, not at the moment. Clint lay sideways in the front seat, blood flowing down his face. Pieces of the spider-webbed windshield were embedded in the cuts on Clint's face. In a brief moment of dark humor, Coulson thought about all the times he'd called Clint hard-headed and he'd finally proven it.

A man in his sixties hovered nearby, a cell phone in one hand. "I called 9-1-1." Coulson nodded as he touched the side of Clint's neck, breathing a sigh of relief when he felt a pulse. A crowd started to gather, and though Coulson had put out a lot of metaphorical fires on Clint's behalf over the years before the public could get wind of them, this was one he wouldn't be able to hide or put a positive spin on. The only upsides were that the mother and baby hadn't been injured and Clint was still alive.

Three police cars, an ambulance and a fire truck came at the scene from two different directions effectively blocking the street and drawing even more people out to watch with horrid fascination. The paramedics grabbed their kits and ran to Clint's side pushing Coulson out of the way.

A pair of cops approached, nodding a greeting. A quick scan of the area saw more cops already canvasing the crowd for witnesses. The younger of the two officers, took out a tablet while the older one did the talking. "Sergeant Hansen, Officer Penhall."

Coulson knew the drill. He handed Penhall his ID to be scanned. "Phil Coulson." _Just the facts, man._ "His name is Clint Barton. I'm a friend of his. The car belongs to me."

"Did you see what happened, Mr. Coulson?"

"He swerved to keep from hitting a pedestrian and lost control." His ID was returned and Penhall stepped away to confer with the other officers, Coulson wishing he could hear what they were saying.

Penhall showed Hansen the tablet, the two spoke in a sort of shorthand then Hansen turned his attention back to Coulson. "Witness reports say Mr. Barton was traveling at a high rate of speed when he turned onto the street. They also reported seeing another car following him, a silver Prius." He nodded at the vehicle sitting in the middle of the street with the engine still running. "Care to explain that, sir?"

"You're going to find out sooner or later, so here's the deal," Coulson exhaled loudly before continuing, "the driver is Jimmy Blue."

Penhall perked up, speaking for the first time. "Fallen Angels? That Jimmy Blue?"

"One and the same."

Hansen didn't say anything though Coulson could see a glimmer of recognition at the mention of Clint's stage name and group. "But a minute ago you said his name was Barton. Which is it, Mr. Coulson?"

"Both. Clint Barton is his legal name."

Nodding and making more notes, Hansen glanced over to where the paramedics were still examining Clint. When his eyes fell on Coulson again, he said, "I smelled alcohol. How much did he have to drink?"

Coulson knew better than to make any sort of statement without an attorney. "I think I'll give the attorney a call before I answer that."

"Up to you, Mr. Coulson. Just make sure you're reachable. Mr. Barton's being taken to St. Anthony General." Hansen consulted his tablet again. "You can ride along or meet us there. I'll come to the hospital to take both your statements once he's able to do so."

Both men nodded and walked away, leaving Coulson standing there being watched by the crowd, many of whom were whispering behind their hands while others were taking video or stills of the scene as Clint was moved onto a backboard and from there to the stretcher. He wanted to ride to the hospital with his friend, but he had to return Michaela's car first. The housekeeper would know where Clint kept his keys. Coulson would just borrow the Porsche.

Getting back into the Prius, Coulson returned to Clint's house to give the bad news to the housekeeper. Michaela met him in the driveway. "What happened? Where's Mr. B?"

"At the hospital. He lost control and hit a tree." Drawing Michaela back inside, Coulson led the way to Clint's room, intent on finding out what had sparked his friend's downward spiral. The deaths of his family were a major contributing factor, but in his alcohol and drug infused delirium, he'd spoke about the voices inside his head, killing people and someone named Loki. He'd even said that Coulson himself was dead. Did this have something to do with the freaky dreams Clint and that woman had been talking about?

Coulson hadn't thought much about the interview with Lena and how he and Clint had been able to understand and speak Russian without any memory of learning the language. He'd thought that the dreams were a delusion perpetrated by Delany and Clint was going along with it because he was attracted to her. But what if the dreams _weren't_ a delusion? What if what he'd been told about them being echoes from a different life they were all meant to lead was the truth? There was no way to prove or disprove either theory without Clint and Delany.

And now that Coulson was thinking about the woman, he remembered something Clint said the day of the interview. Clint had introduced her to him and Jared as Delany O'Brien, but he'd called her Nat, obviously a nickname, and had given her name as Natasha during the introductions.

Michaela clasped her hand on Coulson's arm in relief bringing him out of his reverie. "Thank God. I've worked for Mr. B. almost six years now and I've never seen him like this. He's always done the drinking and the drugs and the partying, but lately it's been much worse. I was gonna call you, but my Benny, he says to stay out of it. Now…"

"It's not your fault. Losing his entire family in less than a week took a greater toll than he let on." Coulson patted her hand with a smile. "Why don't you go on home? Jimmy's going to be in the hospital for a while, so take the rest of the week off."

"I can't. He was so kind letting us have our anniversary party here I don't want to leave the house a mess. The girls and I will clean up so it's ready for when he comes home. Want I should order new mirrors? He broke all of them. Kept saying that's how some guy was gettin' into his head."

Sighing, Coulson realized he'd have to tell Clint's employees what was going on and that they'd be off work for at least sixty days. But knowing his friend, he'd still pay them their usual salary plus a bonus. Now wasn't the time though. "Let's hold off on that for now. Oh, before you go, where does he keep the keys to the Porsche?"

Going into the kitchen, Michaela went to the center island and opened the door under the sink. She knelt down, reaching way back and up, her hand coming out with a set of keys. Coulson helped her stand. "I got keys for all his cars. Some, he's never driven since I've worked for him. Even Mr. B. don't know where I keep them."

Chuckling, Coulson said, "Michaela, would you to come work for me?"

"I like you, Me. C., but I'm stayin' with Mr. B." With a smile, she took her purse from under the counter next to the refrigerator and hooked it over her shoulder. "He needs me 'n you don't."

"Can't argue with that." Coulson walked with her to the front door. "And try not to worry. He'll be fine." _I hope._

She drove away, and Coulson just stood there for a few minutes. He didn't worry that Michaela and the gardener would sell this story to the press because they'd signed confidentiality agreements. But the fact was there were others who'd seen what went on and didn't share their restraint. Nothing could be done about them, and Coulson doubted there was much he could do to mitigate the damage. On the upside, it would boost sales and hits on the website because nothing generated revenue like scandal. But as far as Coulson was concerned, the greatest positive is that Clint would finally get the help he needed.

Coulson went to Clint's room and pulled out the duffle bag and removed the contents, tossing the clothes in the hamper and setting the sneakers aside. Clint preferred to wear boots because it was his signature look, however, Coulson knew for a fact that Serenity Hills didn't permit them. In some cases, footwear with laces weren't allowed, but he didn't think that would be the case here. Clint was self-destructive, but not suicidal or he'd have done the deed long ago.

From the closet, he took out several pairs of jeans and flannel shirts—another trademark, this one for the entire band—and shoved them into the bag. He added three each of socks, plain tees and boxers to the bag as well.

He found Clint's watch, wristbands, pendants and rings on the floor next to the bed. Gathering them up, he unzipped a side pocket, but when he went to drop them in, he found a small framed photo inside. It was a professionally done portrait. Clint couldn't have been more than six, grinning though both front teeth were missing. Barney sat to Clint's left with Edith behind Clint and Harold standing with his hand on Barney's shoulder. They looked like a happy family, but looks were deceiving. Or maybe not, at least in this instance. From what little Clint had told him about his early life, this was the day they all almost died when their car had a blow-out.

Shoving it back into the pocket, Coulson put the jewelry elsewhere so Clint wouldn't know he'd seen the photo. He didn't know if the pendant would be allowed, but it couldn't hurt to ask. Again, it could be a forbidden item. The sneakers went into a smaller tote bag along with a single change of clothes.

Clint wouldn't really need the clothes. Until he checked out, the hospital would provide him with scrubs or gowns. The only truly important item in all of the crap Coulson had gathered was the photo. The clothes gave him an excuse to take the photo without his friend knowing he'd seen it.

As Coulson dug through the closet, he saw something odd: a garment bag with Jared's name on it. What was in it didn't matter so Coulson hung the duffle bag from one shoulder, picked up the garment bag and left the room. In the hall, a small box was on its side, and strewn across the floor was a curious mix of photos, kids' drawings, and crafts: handmade pot holders, Popsicle stick trivets, hanging decorations made with sticks and yarn, constructing paper decorated with dried beans, elbow macaroni and glitter. Most were pictures of houses, trucks, planes, dinosaurs, people playing sports. In short, anything pre-adolescent boys found fascinating. But the last one was different. It was a water color of a big red heart with "We love you, Mom", "Happy Mother's Day" and "Love, Barney and Clint" neatly lettered around the edges. Someone had taken the time to write the date, names of the individuals and a short description of each photo. It was the same with the drawings and crafts. The handwriting was neat and distinctly feminine. Clint's mother.

Coulson tossed the items back in the box and set it on Clint's dresser. Picking up the bags again, Coulson went to the underground garage. His friend had an eclectic collection of vehicles, some he'd never driven. The Porsche was parked in its accustomed spot and had been recently washed, as had the other vehicles.

Tossing the bags in the trunk, Coulson started the engine and put the top down. It was early evening, warm enough not to need a jacket, and Coulson liked the feel of the wind in his face. He found a pair of Oakley's and slipped them on. Giving it a little gas, he pushed the clutch, shifted into gear and let off the brake. If Clint had been driving, the car would've leapt from its space, tires squealing as he took the turns way too fast. Coulson liked to drive fast, but after the day he had, "nice and easy" were the watchwords.

On the way to the hospital, Coulson stopped at Jared's studio to drop off the garment bag and to let the designer know what had happened. Naturally, Jared put a dramatic spin on the tale by throwing his arms around Coulson. "Give him a hug for me, Phil, and let him know I'll come for a visit as soon as we get back from the fashion show in Milan. Three weeks, give or take."

"I'll tell him. And tell Edna she still owes me dinner."

Jared gave Coulson a maliciously playful smile. "O-oh. Do I sense a little _tu es la femme de mes rêves _in the works?"

Coulson gave him an enigmatic smile with one eyebrow lifted. "Good night, Jared."

~~O~~

The drive to the hospital took longer than Coulson anticipated due to traffic around the Amphitheater where Katy Perry was performing. Once he got past that, construction became a pain in the ass, the result being that he didn't arrive at the hospital until more than four hours after Clint.

He crossed the street to the ER, sidestepped paramedics wheeling an empty stretcher out the side door and entered the crowded, bustling, _noisy_ waiting room. There were several security guards in evidence, and now that he thought about it, he'd seen at least six outside. Unusual, unless there'd been trouble, but Coulson saw nothing amiss. In the corner, a television blared canned laughter from a syndicated sitcom. Several kids played on the floor in the open area in front of the magazine rack.

The receptionist was on the phone when Coulson reached the counter. He was certain she knew he was there though she seemed to be ignoring him as she pounded on the computer keyboard. She hung up the phone, but continued working.

"Excuse me. I'm looking for…"

The phone rang, and the woman put up a hand silently telling him to wait. "ER…No, we can't confirm _or_ deny that someone is a patient in our facility…Go to the website. It'll give you the number of the PR department. Now if you don't mind, I have real patients with real illnesses and injuries that need to be taken care of." She slammed the phone down, shaking her head and letting out a long, frustrated sigh. "Sorry about that. It's been a _madhouse_ around here the last few hours. Everybody, his brother _and_ their dog wants to know if some famous singer was brought in. Don't these people watch TV or movies? That's _privileged_ information. We can't give it out to just anyone. I could lose my job and…"

Coulson stopped her tirade with a hand on her shoulder and a sympathy smile. "It's not that I don't understand because believe me, I do. But I'm here to see one of your patients. The paramedics brought him in about four hours ago. Clint Barton. He was in a car accident."

"And who are you?"

"Phil Coulson." He flashed his ID.

Now she was peering at him suspiciously. "You a family member?"

"No, ma'am. Mr. Barton doesn't have any family. I'm his emergency contact."

"I remember him. O-oh! He was a _mess_. Had to chase off a bunch o' reporters, the lousy bloodsuckers. Can't give anyone a moment's peace. Gotta stick their noses into _everything_. Think it's their right to know everything about everybody everywhere." While she was talking, she pecked at the computer again then waved to one of the guards. "Steven, take Mr. Coulson here to examination room seven."

Coulson followed the guard through a set of automatic doors, down a long hallway and into a room with five curtained cubicles down each side. In front of one stood a uniformed police officer. Coulson had figured as much. He'd probably be there until the policed department made a decision as to whether or not to file charges.

Through the gap, he could see his friend stretched out on the bed, his sun darkened skin a contrast to the snow white sheets. He wasn't on a ventilator, so it couldn't be too bad…hopefully. Seeing Clint like this was like a slap in the face. A wake-up call for both of them. Yes, Coulson knew he should've intervened before it came to this, and if he had it to do over again, he would. But that didn't help with the guilt he was feeling now.

A man in scrubs with a stethoscope around his neck was just coming out. "I'm glad I caught you, Doctor. What's his condition?"

The stocky, sixty-ish African-American man looked at Coulson over the top of his glasses. "And you are?"

"Phil Coulson, Mr. Barton's POA."

The doctor, flipped through the chart he was carrying, finding the information on the last page. "Dr. Henry Sanders. We're still waiting for some of the tests to come back, CT scans, MRIs, etc. What we've observed so far is that Mr. Barton has a concussion, multiple scrapes, and cuts on his face and upper body from the impact with the windshield. One bruised rib and a large number of contusions over a good portion of his body. Some of which he sustained nearly two weeks ago."

"Two _weeks?_ Did he say how he got them? Was he in a fight?"

"He hasn't regain consciousness yet so we haven't been able to ask. The older contusions present as having been caused by blunt force trauma of the sort sustained when someone falls or is pushed against a hard surface such as a wall, floor or sidewalk. At the moment, none of his injuries are life-threatening, pending the results of the tests and lab work. We're keeping him for a few days. That may or may not change. Would you like to see him?"

"Yes, please."

"If you need anything, one of the nurses will help you."

Nodding, Coulson went around to the other side of the bed. Clint didn't move when he took his hand. "You're going be alright, Clint. We're gonna make it through this together because, like it or not, I'm the only family you have left. Me and Jared." Pulling the chair closer, Coulson sat down. "Don't know what you said or did, but Michaela thinks you hung the moon. We all want you to know that we're here any time you need a shoulder to lean on or just someone to talk to. We're your friends, Clint. Take advantage of it."

~~O~~

Sometime later, Coulson was startled awake by a hand shaking him. He sat up, rubbing his eyes. "Oh. Doctor. What is it?"

"We have the results of Mr. Barton's tests, Mr. Coulson." Sanders held the curtain out of the way, dropping it back into place as he led Coulson out into the hall. "The CT scan and MRI all show clear. He'll need to take it easy for a couple of weeks, but he'll make a full recovery.

"However, there's another issue. His lab work showed a blood alcohol content of 0.12, well over the legal limit. We also found large amounts of cocaine, Ecstasy and Special K in his system."

Holding in a huff because it wouldn't do to piss off the doctor, Coulson crossed his arms and shifted his feet waiting for him to continue.

The doctor let out a long, loud exhale. "There is evidence of long-term use. Due to the nature of the accident and the types and amounts of drugs in his system, I'm recommending a seventy-two hour psychiatric evaluation."

Thought it wasn't completely unexpected, it was still difficult to hear. _At least Clint isn't dying. Not today._ Coulson shook his head. "I don't think that's necessary."

"It doesn't matter _what_ you think, Mr. Coulson. As a physician, it's my job to tend to the physical _and_ mental wellbeing of my patients. And it is _my_ opinion that Mr. Barton would greatly benefit from a brief stay in our mental health facility. Excuse me. I have other patients to see."

**Santa Fe, New Mexico **

**Sierra Leon University **

**Astrophysics Department**

"…Lorentzian wormholes known as Schwarzschild wormholes or Einstein-Rosen bridges are connections between areas of space that can be modeled as vacuum solutions to the Einstein field equations, and which are now understood to be intrinsic parts of the maximally extended version of the Schwarzschild metric describing an eternal black hole with no charge and no rotation. Here, 'maximally extended' refers to the idea that space-time should not have any 'edges'."

Erik Selvig turned from writing on the white board to face the auditorium full of students, his voice faltering when a very attractive woman entered and slipped into a seat in the upper tier. The intensity of her gaze disconcerted him for a brief moment then he continued, "For any possible trajectory of a free-falling particle, following a geodesic, in space-time, it should be possible to continue this path arbitrarily far into the particle's future or past, unless the trajectory hits a gravitational singularity like the one at the center of the black hole's interior.

"In order to satisfy this requirement, it turns out that in addition to the black hole interior region which particles enter when they fall through the event horizon from the outside, there must be a separate white hole interior region which allows us to extrapolate the trajectories of particles which an outside observer sees rising up _away_ from the event horizon…"

The bell rang signaling the end of class. His students gathered their belongings and left in a steady stream through the three main entrances. All but the woman. Turning his back, he busied himself with placing a laptop and several tablets into a leather satchel, hoping she would leave.

"Dr. Selvig? Erik Selvig?"

No such luck. Selvig zipped the satchel and hung it from his shoulder, heading for the exit and the sanctuary of his office. "Office hours are Monday and Thursday from two to four-fifteen. Excuse me."

"I'm not one of your students, Doctor, but you already know that."

Selvig sped up forcing the woman to do so as well. In a bored and uninterested tone, he told her, "What I do or don't know doesn't matter. Now if you don't mind…"

"Oh, but I _do_ mind." Her voice had been neutral, but now it had an edge. The sort that meant business. She didn't appreciate being put off, and would lash out with deadly force, _if_ she felt the need.

By now they'd reached his office. With one hand on the doorknob, Selvig gave a few moments thought to darting inside, slamming the door and leaving her standing in the hall though he doubted it would be that easy. He turned his left wrist over to check the time then opened the door, inviting her in. "I have a few minutes before I'm due at a meeting. Can I offer you a cup of coffee?"

"This isn't a social call, Doctor."

Selvig raised his hands and let them slap against his thighs. "I don't have the time for guessing games, so just tell me who you are and why you're here."

The woman wore black slacks, a black and orange top, ankle high boots and a light brown jacket. Her auburn hair had the look of having just been cut. Most wouldn't have noticed, but then he was more observant than most. She crossed her legs, hands folded in her lap. "My name is Natalia Romanova. I'm here to talk about SHIELD and the Tesseract."

**TBC**


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N:** This is another AU of the Avengers, post movie. Many thanks to ladygris for doing the Beta services again.

**Warning:** This story includes references to drug and alcohol use and abuse. Also, the upcoming chapters are very emotional and intense. You've been warned.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the Avengers, Marvel, Facebook, Twitter or YouTube. If I've left anything out, aside from the OC characters, I don't own them/it either. Someone else does.

Namaste,

Sandy

How cruelly sweet are the echoes that start,

When memory plays an old tune on the heart.

~Eliza Cook

**Avengers**

**Echoes**

**Chapter 14**

Clint awoke to the gentle beeping of the heart monitor, the whisper of oxygen being pumped into his lungs via the nasal cannula and the smell of antiseptic. Not ready to open his eyes, he shifted to get more comfortable, but that didn't help. Every muscle in his body ached, his face was numb and his chest felt constricted.

"About time you woke up. I've been here for _hours_."

Turning his head, Clint risked opening his eyes, the light stabbing into his brain. Coulson reached over his head and switched out the lights. All but a small one where it wouldn't glare in his eyes. "Where am I?"

"St. Anthony's. What do you remember?"

He started to shake his head, realizing it was a bad idea when his stomach heaved. Through will power alone, he managed not to vomit. Taking in the tubes and wires attached to various body parts, Clint put a hand to his face feeling the roughness of bandages on his forehead, nose and cheeks, the pieces coming together. "Uh…car accident. Something about a tree."

Coulson gripped Clint's hand, careful to avoid the I.V. "You _do_ remember. Doc says that's a good sign. It means there's no permanent brain damage. You'll be better soon."

"****, Phil. I'd have to _die_ to feel better." Again, Clint shifted his position, grunting in pain when his ribs twinged. He reached for a glass on the bedside table, coming up short due to his left wrist being attached to the bedrails by a pair of handcuffs. "What the ****?! Why'm I cuffed to the bed?"

Crossing his arms, Coulson walked to the end of the bed and back as he talked. "Just off the top of my head, DUI, driving on a suspended license, destruction of public property, grand theft auto, reckless endangerment…"

That's when it all came back to him. The drinking, the drugs, swiping Coulson's keys and taking off in his car. And the dreams. Always the dreams. Not a night went by without the dreams, echoes of that other life. "You had me _arrested?_"

"It wasn't _me_, pal. The cops came up with that one all on their own, though it doesn't take a genius to figure it out. You were driving my car and I was chasing you in Maria's when you hit the tree. A plus B equals C for 'cuffs."

He already felt like crap, and now it was so much worse. "I wrecked your car."

"Yeah, well, we'll talk about it later."

Clint rattled the cuffs, his head dropping back to the pillow. "I'm not in any condition to run away. Let's take these off."

The sound of water being poured came just before Coulson put a straw to his lips. He sucked hard, the cool water feeling good on his sore throat. The straw was removed and the glass set aside.

"Standard procedure. The doc also ordered a three-day psych eval." Clint tried to interrupt, but Coulson kept going, "You're not getting out of this with a slap on the wrist this time, Clint, so just accept your fate. I've brought clothes for when they move you upstairs. The lead in the investigation, Sergeant Hansen, will be around to take both our statements. I've called Julia so she can be present, just in case. I'll give them both a call so we can get this over with. And this time, when Julia tells you to say nothing, zip it."

Clint nodded his appreciation, and again, it wasn't a good idea. Closing his eyes, he started to drift off, not even hearing when Coulson left the room.

**Santa Fe, New Mexico **

**Sierra Leon University **

**Astrophysics Department**

From the look on Selvig's face, Natalia could see she'd unsettled him. To increase the feeling, she kept her eyes on his without blinking, waiting. Finally, he looked away and seated himself behind the desk. It was an act of self-protection, an attempt to put distance between them, to give himself space. "I have no idea what you're talking about. What do you _really_ want, Ms. Romanova?"

Again, she shifted her chair a few inches to the left, but not out of nervousness or anxiety. In altering her position, she was better able to see both the windows and the door. "I want the same thing _you_ want, Doctor. To get back where I belong."

"And where do _we_ belong?"

A brief, unguarded moment of sorrow brought on by personal loss, flickered through her and out of habit, was quickly suppressed. Getting to her feet, she paced over the built-in bookcase and stood with her back to the corner. That was _her_ defense mechanism. "You know as well as I do that this is all wrong."

"This what? My office? My scientific theories? My haircut? Window shades down when they should be up?" In what had to be a calculated act, Selvig stood and turned his back on her, taking his time pouring and preparing a cup of coffee. He set that one aside, poured a second cup, and prepared it as well. Picking up both cups, he faced her again, extending the hand with the first one he'd poured. "One sugar, a dollop of milk."

Natalia looked from the cup to him and back again before taking the offering and resuming her seat. The spoon clinked against the ceramic sides as she stirred and went back to that unblinking stare. "And you take yours black with sugar."

"Pardon?"

She took a sip of the hot beverage finding it weak by her standards, but drinkable. "Why is it that you have no idea what SHIELD and the Tesseract are or who _I_ am yet you know how I take my coffee?"

His watery blue eyes looked at her and away. "Lucky guess. Can we get on with this? I really do have a meeting to get to."

"I saw it in your eyes when I said my name. You _know_ me. We know _each other_, Erik."

One side of his mouth turned up in an ironic smile. "You are a very attractive woman, Agent Romanoff. If we had met prior to today, I'm certain I would remember."

Though she preferred to sit, Natalia's feet wanted to move, so she let them have their way and got up to wander over to the bookcase again, raising the cup to take another sip. "That's just it. You _do_ remember. That's why you look like you haven't slept in a week. The truth comes to you the same way it comes to me, to Clint Barton…and to Phil Coulson."

At the mention of Clint's and Coulson's names, Selvig flinched. Not much, but enough to tell Natalia all she wanted to know. The silence was broken by the buzzing of the phone sitting on the corner of Selvig's desk, the voice of a woman coming over the intercom. "_It's time, Dr. Selvig. Meeting in ten minutes._"

"Thank you, Sarah." He nodded at the phone. "The meeting is clear across campus and I need to be on time. Is there a number I can reach you at?"

Natalia downed the last of her coffee and exchanged the cup for the cell phone lying on the desk. She entered her contact information and handed it back. "One last thing, Doctor."

"What?"

"You just called me Agent Romanoff. Only SHIELD knows I changed my name from Romanova to Romanoff when I became a U.S. citizen in that other timeline." With that parting shot, Natalia closed the door and walked away knowing that Selvig would be calling her very soon.

~~O~~

Erik waited until he was certain that his guest had gone before resuming his seat just as one of his colleagues came in with a puzzled frown on her face. "What's going on, Erik? You've been more than a little paranoid ever since Banner resigned."

"How many times do I have to say it, Sarah? He didn't _resign_. That story is a cover-up. He was taken by the United States government. Bruce is a pioneer in gamma radiation. Not two weeks after he made a major breakthrough, a group of federal agents showed up, and that's the last I heard from him. They took everything from his lab including the computer equipment and all the back-ups."

Sarah, a slender, fiftyish woman with gray hair, helped herself to coffee. "Have you tried calling him at home?"

Getting to his feet, Erik went to look out the window, peeking through the blinds. "Many times. It went to voice mail every time. Then, one day I called and got a Greek restaurant. The manager claims they've had that number for the last eight years."

Perching on the corner of Selvig's desk, Sarah swung one leg. "Maybe it's a front."

"I no longer know _what_ to think. I drove by, and it's a restaurant just like they claimed. If it's a front, they're doing a hell of a side business."

"For all we know, Bruce is doing classified research for the government."

Giving in, Selvig returned to his chair, slumping in his seat with one hand covering his eyes. "That could be it too. I just…I don't know what's going on with me lately. I've been having odd dreams and the feeling that something horrendous is about to happen and it's all going to be my fault."

Moving to a chair, Sarah sipped her coffee and crossed her legs as she watched him with those brown eyes that saw and remembered everything. "Like what? Global economic disaster? Nuclear war? Ebola outbreak? A planet wide shortage of Twinkies?"

"Alien invasion. The end of our lives as we know it." He waited while she absorbed that bit of information, exhaling loudly. "It's going to happen, but here and now, we don't have the resources to save the Earth. To do that, we need to bring together a group of remarkable people, so when we need them, they'll fight the battles that we never could."

Sarah finished her coffee, set the cup on the edge of the desk and stood. "Try changing your diet. Cut out fructose, trans fats, wheat, and limit your fish intake to salmon and trout, and no more than twice a month. That will cut down on weird dreams. I have to go. Class is starting."

The door closed quietly behind Sarah. Selvig locked the door, turned out the lights and lay down on the sofa with his eyes closed. The dream started almost immediately. In it, a man with an eye patch requested his help with a secret project for the government that involved generating clean power from a glowing blue cube called the Tesseract. He was about to decline the offer, but there, below the level of consciousness, a voice whispered, _Well, I guess that's worth a look._

And Selvig heard himself repeating the words as though they were his own. "Well, I guess that's worth a look."

The man with the eye patch smiled and led him to an enormous laboratory that had already been prepared. He assembled a team, and got to work, but more than a year later, they weren't even close to a solution. Yet, events had been set into motion that would cause wide-spread death and devastation. And it was all his fault.

Selvig came awake with a start, looking around frantically for whatever had disturbed his sleep, but he was alone. Sitting up, he rested his elbows on his thighs and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. The dream he'd just awakened from had been the most vivid and disturbing one so far. And if his visitor could shed light on what was going on inside his head then maybe he should give her a call.

~~O~~

The nurses looked up as he approached, watching him with curiosity and a smidgen of suspicion. To assuage that feeling, he pulled out his ID and held it up for them to see. "Detective Ethan Reese, Mira Mesa PD. I need to speak to one of your patients, Clint Barton."

Head nurse Grayson Newell, a stocky man with brown hair, looked up from the tablet he was making notes on. "Of course, Detective. Room 615. You can _try_ talking to him, but he's a little out of it from the pain meds and sedatives."

"The pain meds, I get, but why the sedatives?"

Newell shared a grin with the other nurses and a doctor. "Mr. Barton has been rather uncooperative."

Reese didn't join in their humor. "So to make him compliant you give a drug addict more drugs? Makes a twisted sort of sense, I suppose." He pointed. "That way?"

The door was cracked open a few inches. Reese listened for movement, but heard only the usual hospital sounds and the disjointed rambling of the occupant talking in his sleep. He pushed the door open, stepped inside and closed it again, going immediately to the bed. Butterfly bandages, covered twenty percent of his face. From the look of the cuts, the scars would be minimal, just noticeable enough to engender sympathy from the women. Well, those that hung around the periphery of the rich and famous hoping to become rich and famous on the coattails of someone like Jimmy Blue.

From his research, Reese discovered that Barton had kept his legal name a secret from the general public, most likely to protect his family from being hassled by groupies, fanatics and stalkers. His accident the other day put that information out there where everyone could see it, and from the looks of things, they'd also heard about the deaths in his family. Every inch of wall space not taken up by the equipment had been covered in get well and sympathy notices. Some in card form with one huge poster board covered in signatures with a picture of Fallen Angels in the center.

Reese looked down at the man on the bed when he moaned. His hand reached up to touch his face though Reese doubted Barton knew what he was doing. To stop him from scratching or pulling at the bandages, Reese gently held his wrist exerting just enough pressure to discourage him. To his surprise, Barton turned his hand palm up and grabbed onto his hand holding tight. Seeing that Barton was in need of comfort and latching onto the nearest human contact, Reese willingly provided it, whispering a few soothing words.

After a few minutes, Barton's grip relaxed and his eyes fluttered open. In the dim light, Reese knew his features would be obscured and any memory Barton had of him being here would be colored by the drugs in his system.

"Who's there?" Peering closer, Barton tilted his head to the side as if he thought he was seeing things.

Keeping his voice low, Reese told him, "Go back to sleep, buddy-boy. You're dreaming."

Barton rubbed his eyes and lifted his head from the pillow. With a groan, he let it fall back. "Whoa. Not feelin' so hot."

Reese couldn't help the chuckling at Barton's pissed off tone. "You look like you went ten rounds with the Ultimate Warrior."

Rolling his head over to look at his visitor, Barton blinked to clear his vision, using the rails to shift to a more comfortable position. He groaned again. "****, I haven't thought about wrestling since before my brother left for the Army. It's weird you bringin' it up. Only Barney knew Ultimate was my favorite wrestler. Uh, what did you say your name was?"

"Didn't say, buddy-boy."

Something in Barton's eyes gave Reese pause. Not that he thought Barton would attack him-in his condition, it would be a futile gesture. No, it was more like he recognized Reese or thought he was someone else. Barton's hand found the remote and used his thumb to turn on the overhead lights, but by then, Reese had left.

~~O~~

The lights came on, but the man standing at Clint's bedside was gone, if he'd been there at all. Sometimes he couldn't tell if he was awake and hallucinating or asleep and having some surreal drug-fueled nightmare. It was the pain meds and the sedatives the doctor had ordered, and Clint endured it because they kept him from having the other dreams, the ones he shared with Natalia and Coulson. They also held back the pain of withdrawal stemming from his alcohol and drug abuse.

_I must be doin' better if Coulson's gone_, Clint thought. He was about to drift off when the nurse came in with what Clint called her toolbox.

"How you feelin' today, Mr. Barton? I just need to check your wounds then you and I are goin' for a walk." Clint didn't respond except to grunt as the African-American woman examined the cuts on his face and arms. "I thought the police were done taking statements."

"Excuse me?"

Her voice was somewhat distracted as she turned his head so she could check the side of his neck. Clint winced when she touched an especially sore spot. "A detective from Mira Mesa PD was just in here. You must've been asleep. That's why he didn't stay long. "

Finding out that the figment of his imagination had been real made Clint angry and uneasy at the same time. He wished that Natalia, Coulson or even Jared had been here to verify what he thought he saw and heard. "Marjita, what did this detective look like?"

"About six-one, muscular, spiked blonde hair, full beard. Said his name was," she thought for a moment, "Ethan Reese. Why? You know him?"

"No." Clint decided it was time for a subject change. "What time is it? I'm getting hungry."

Marjita packed up her toolkit and stripped off the soiled latex gloves. "Dinner's not for another hour or so. We'll take that walk then I'll bring you a couple of cookies, if you promise to behave for a change."

The nurse closed the door behind her leaving Clint alone with his thoughts. And those thoughts wondered why the guy he'd seen lurking around Waverly was now here in California and using a different name. He also wondered where the hell Natalia had gone.

Marjita came in followed by the cop stationed at the door. The cop unlocked the cuffs and stayed behind Clint as he was forced to walk the length of the hall three times. They returned to his room and Marjita tucked him back in bed, fussing with his pillows and covers as if he were a child. Clint wanted to tell her to get the hell away from him, but he didn't feel motivated enough to bother. The cop came forward to replace the cuffs and together they left the room.

True to her word, Marjita returned with a snack sized package of Oreos. Clint was so hungry he ate them without asking for milk. His appetite temporarily appeased, he closed his eyes and wished he had a phone. Under orders from the doctor _and_ Coulson, Clint was not permitted to make any outgoing calls unless Coulson was there. _Probably think I'm gonna call my supplier. And they'd be right._

Using the remote, Clint turned on the television and began flipping channels until something caught his eye. It was a news segment on Jimmy Blue's state of health after his car accident and speculation on the ramifications of the resulting brush with the law. Clint wanted to throw something at the television, but there wasn't anything handy so he did the next best thing. He swore at it, "****!"

**Three Days Later**

"You're _sure_ this is the right thing to do, Julia?" Pen poised above the stack of papers, Coulson asked Clint's attorney, Julia Banerjee.

Julia reached across the desk to tap a perfectly manicured and polished fingernail on the line with Coulson's name below it. "You heard the judge's off-the-record message. Either he goes voluntarily or the court will send him. We both know he won't go on his own and if we let the court decide, they will also choose the facility. This way, _you_ get to choose where he goes, he's gets the help he needs, and the judge gives him probation as long as he attends a program at least three times a week. It's either this or allow him to continue his current behavior, get busted a couple more times and go to prison."

Still hesitating, Coulson weighed all the consequences of his actions. "He's gonna be pissed at both of us."

Julia leaned back in her chair, interlocking her hands. "I prefer pissed off to dead."

"You're right." Coulson quickly signed his name on all three copies with a heavy sigh.

Coulson stood when the attorney did. She was of Indian ancestry, average height with a lot of curves. One hand scooped up the paperwork together into a stack as she came from behind the desk. "My paralegal will have these scanned and transmitted to the courts before end of business today. Once the judge has signed off, you can pick our mutual headache up from the hospital. Tomorrow after lunch is probably the best time. I recommend going straight to Serenity Hills without stopping for more than a quick bite at the drive-thru for his last free meal for the next two months. The sooner he gets there, the sooner he'll be out."

Nodding, Coulson and the attorney shook hands. "Appreciate all you've done, Julia."

"I would say 'my pleasure', but we both know that would be a lie. Though I do have to admit he's not nearly the troublemaker that Downey was back in the day. I'm just glad Clint's my only celebrity client."

Shrugging, Coulson said, "Wish I could say the same. He _is_ my most troubled and troublesome client though."

"Why haven't you quit? There are plenty of talent managers out there."

"Yes, but Clint also happens to be a friend."

Julia leaned her hips against the desk and crossed her arms. "Now _that's _a story I'd love to hear."

Coulson had one hand on the door preparing to leave. Instead, he returned to stand directly in front of the attorney, mirroring her pose. "Why don't I tell it to you over dinner? I have a standing reservation at Bistro 57 every Wednesday night at eight."

Not hiding her surprise, Julia smiled. "Dinner? You and me? As in _together?_"

"Yes." She seemed hesitant, but not in a way that said she didn't find him attractive, so he used that. Taking a measured step into her personal space, Coulson kept his hands where she could see them. "You _do_ like me, don't you?"

"Of course." Some women would've become tongue-tied when he inched closer, stopping just short of actually touching her.

"Then say yes. I promise there will be no games and no expectations aside from an evening spent in pleasant company. And maybe a kiss or two at the end of the night. What do you say?" Just as Coulson and Julia's lips were about to touch, there was a knock at the door. They shared a small laugh as Coulson backed up to an acceptable distance.

Softly, she whispered, "Yes." Raising her voice, she said, "Come in."

Coulson took that as his cue to leave. He nodded to the paralegal and closed the door on the way out. When he reached the car, he sat in there for a few minutes. He hadn't wanted to resort to going behind Clint's back, but his friend hadn't given him a choice. If they'd let the judge send Clint for court ordered rehab, his friend would've ended up in an overcrowded county facility.

Of course, the only reason that Clint was getting off easy-the judge's word-was because Coulson refused to file charges for the theft of his car and Clint promised to make restitution on the damages. Coulson and Julia would take care of that the next few days. That and the repairs to the security gate at the house. The mirrors and other items he'd destroyed hadn't been replaced yet, and Coulson wanted to wait on those for a while. Just like he was waiting on buying a new car. Lola had been his pride and joy since his parents had given her to him for his sixteenth birthday and the replacement would have to be something special. Until then, Coulson kept the keys to the Porsche.

He went to the hospital to visit Clint, but didn't stay long because it was almost dinner time and the musician had a session with one of the shrinks scheduled immediately afterwards. So, with nothing else to do before his date, Coulson returned to his condo, changed and went to the gym for a workout.

~~O~~

Coulson arrived at Bistro 57 just before eight and was taken right to his table. With a smile, he said, "I'll take something non-alcoholic with mint to drink. Oh, and a guest will be joining me shortly."

His drink arrived just ahead of Julia. He stood as she approached, admiring her flowing halter-top dress the color of a tangerine. The skirt was so long she had to lift it to walk, adding to the allure. The wrap draped over her arms started out purple at one end fading to pink in the middle and finishing off a darker orange than the dress. A small purse the same color of purple as in the wrap crossed from her right shoulder to her left hip, pulling the material taut over her ample breasts. Her hair, usually held off her face in an elegant twist or bun, had been allowed to spill around her shoulders in waves down to the middle of her back. Enormous gold hoop earrings were her only other accessory.

The server held her chair and she thanked him with a smile. "I'll have sangria, please. Virgin with extra fruit."

The young man nodded and was gone just as quickly as he arrived. Coulson smiled. "You look very different out of your clothes." That comment startled a laugh out of her making him realize what he said, his chuckle joining hers. "I didn't mean that the way it sounded. It's just that I've only seen you dressed for court. Never like this. You look lovely, by the way."

"Thank you." Julia's eyes gave the interior of the restaurant a quick once-over, coming back to Coulson with a smile. "On the other hand, I saw you in a tux the other night on the award show. You clean up good. Who was that with you?"

He laid the white cloth napkin across his lap while Julia did the same. "My personal trainer. Her girlfriend let me borrow her for the night. I hadn't planned on going, but I needed to keep an eye on Clint. For all the good it did me."

"At least Logan Carter isn't pressing charges, and they did kiss and make up. There's even talk of a collaboration."

"Yeah, well, that'll have to wait until he gets out of rehab. Then, of course, Carter's getting married around that same time, and a few months later, he and his wife will welcome a new baby. No telling how long it'll take to get the ball rolling on it." There was a small commotion at another table and every eye turned in that direction. Returning his attention to Julia, Coulson opened the menu. "Know what you want?"

Julia scanned the menu, sighed and closed it again. "I've never been here before. What do you recommend?"

"We can share an order of truffle fries as an appetizer, if you like." She didn't demur so he marked that as a yes as he motioned the server over. "We'll have truffle fries, and bring two plates please. The lady will have the catch of the day, and I'll take roasted pork tenderloins."

When the server was gone again, Julia took a sip of her sangria and held the glass in her hand, using the fruit on a toothpick to stir it. "So tell me how you and Jimmy met."

And the night was off. The couple spent a pleasant evening together. After dinner, they walked through San Mateo Square then stopped at the Java Hut for coffee. When they returned to their cars, they kissed good night, and Coulson waved as Julia drove away.

In the morning, Coulson called Serenity Hills and made arrangements for Clint to check in that night under an assumed name. Then, he drove to Clint's house to pick up the suitcases he'd asked Maria to pack. Promptly at one, Coulson arrived at the hospital, signed him out and, with a nurse following, walked him to the car. Clint apparently wasn't in a mood to talk because he didn't say more than a couple of words once they were out on the highway.

Coulson signaled to get off the next exit inspiring Clint to sit up and take notice of his surroundings as they drove through the guard gate welcoming them to Serenity Hills. "Oh, no-no-no! Turn around and take me _home_. Now, Coulson!"

After days of near apathy, Clint's vehemence was staggering, but Coulson refused to give in like he had in the past. "If I do that, the judge will reverse his decision to let you off with probation. You could end up in jail. Do you _really_ want that?"

"Screw the judge, and screw _you_. I'm _not_ staying here, Phil. Take. Me. Home!"

Coulson ignored him and kept driving. He pulled into a parking spot and shut off the engine. Turning sideways in his seat, he took off his sunglasses, looked his friend in the eye and stated firmly, "No. Now get _out_ of the car. You _are_ going to help me with the bags and we _are_ going inside to get you checked in."

Without waiting for Clint to respond, Coulson popped the trunk and got out. A moment later, Clint's door slammed and the two met in back of the car. His entire attitude was combative, especially his tone. "And who the hell are _you_ to give _me_ orders, Coulson? Last I heard _you_ worked for _me,_ not the other way around. If you won't take me, give me the keys and I'll drive myself."

When Coulson didn't immediately hand them over, Clint tried to take the keys. A scuffle ensued that ended when Coulson spun Clint around and slammed him face first over the trunk of the car parked next to theirs, his left arm twisted behind his back. "I'm gonna say this just _one_ more time, and if you still want a fight, I'll have two of the biggest male orderlies you've ever seen wrestle you to the ground while the nurse sticks a needle in your ass. And while you're sleeping it off, I will take my new girlfriend out to a romantic dinner then we'll go back to my place where we'll make love all night long and I won't think about you even _one time!_"

Clint stopped resisting and Coulson let him go. He stepped back and ran a hand through his hair. With obvious embarrassment, Clint turned to face Coulson, looking at the ground. "Why are you doing this?"

"It's for your own good, Clint. You really went off the deep end this time. You can't keep going on like you have been and not expect there to be consequences to your actions." Clint rubbed his hands together in the way he did when he was nervous or upset, and he was both at the moment. "And if that doesn't do it for you, try this on for size: just this morning, your pal, Judge Duquesne, approved a motion appointing me as your guardian. That means I am authorized to make decisions on your behalf."

Still leaning against the other car, Clint rubbed a finger over the end of his nose then both hands went into his pants pockets. He looked left and right out of habit checking for anyone following and taking photos. On the Serenity Hills property, that wasn't a concern as it wasn't known for its celebrity clientele. A sheepish smile crept over his haggard features. "You have a girlfriend?"

Taking a step back, Coulson rolled his eyes. "Out of everything I said _that's_ what you take away?"

A breeze blew past making the spring leaves flutter. "You've never mentioned you were seeing anyone."

"Yeah, well, it's new."

"How new?"

Coulson chuckled. "Last night was our first date."

Clint moved around Coulson, lifted the trunk lid and pulled out one of the suitcases, his bantering tone changing to something more serious. "Hope it works out. Uh, if you hear from Natalia…"

"I'll tell her were you are. Jared said he'll come by when he gets back from Milan." By this time they were at the front door. Coulson reached past Clint to open it, ushering him in and over to the admittance desk. "Dominic Trask, checking in."

~~O~~

Natalia returned to her hotel room after taking a long run to clear her head. It didn't help, but at least she got her workout done for the day. Taking a bottle of water from the mini-bar, she drank it as she played her messages.

The first was from Hill wanting to know when she'd be back. The second came from the concierge advising her that he'd made a reservation for eight at the restaurant she requested. But the third was the only one she cared about. It was from Erik Selvig.

"…_I have no idea why I'm even calling, Agent Romanoff. All I know is something is going to happen, something bad, and we're all connected to it. I'm taking a sabbatical and will need at least two weeks to work on the calculations. I know someone willing to assist me who won't ask too many questions. Come to the lab at the university two weeks from Saturday and bring those other agents with you. Coulson, Fury, Hill and the one called The Hawk._"

**TBC**


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N:** This is another AU of the Avengers, post movie. Many thanks to ladygris for doing the Beta services again.

**Warning:** This story includes references to drug and alcohol use and abuse. Also, the upcoming chapters are very emotional and intense. You've been warned.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the Avengers, Marvel, Facebook, Twitter or YouTube. If I've left anything out, aside from the OC characters, I don't own them/it either. Someone else does.

Namaste,

Sandy

How cruelly sweet are the echoes that start,

When memory plays an old tune on the heart.

~Eliza Cook

**Avengers**

**Echoes**

**Chapter 15**

To the empty room, Natalia said, "You'll have to be content with just me, Clint and Coulson, Dr. Selvig."

Out of courtesy, she thought of calling Selvig to let him know not to expect Hill or Fury, but the scientist would know soon enough, and he'd just have to deal with it. Right now, the last thing she wanted was for Hill to know where she was and what she was doing. During their meal together, she'd gotten the distinct impression that Hill wasn't happy with the way her other life had gone. In both worlds, she wielded a lot of power, but for different reasons. One side was good. One side was bad. Both incredibly dangerous. Granted, the bad side _paid_ better. Mostly because their clients made their fortunes from less than legal activities just as Natalia did.

Natalia had never been one to wish her troubles away, but lately, she'd been doing just that, though it didn't help. She wasn't sure how everything would be fixed, but it had to happen soon or she was certain she'd go mad.

Using the remote, she turned on the television just for something to do until room service brought her order, finding nothing that would keep her interest. She left it on a news program for the background noise, cleared the floor as best she could and began one of her martial arts routines. She had just performed the traditional salute to her opponent when she heard Clint's stage name announced. Grabbing the remote, she turned the sound up.

"…_Yes, ladies and gentlemen, once again, Jimmy Blue, the lead singer of Fallen Angels, is in trouble with the law. However, the word on the streets is he won't be getting off with a fine and a strongly worded warning from his good friend Judge Mylan Duquesne as he has in the past._

"_A reliable source who spoke only to this station stated that Blue had been on a week-long drug and alcohol fueled binge prior to stealing a car. Before he could be stopped, Blue totaled several parked cars and nearly killed a young mother and her child. His reign of terror might have continued if he hadn't lost control and hit a tree._

"_This same source also informed us that Blue will be checking into a rehab facility upon his release from the hospital where he is currently under twenty-four hour suicide watch. Stay tuned to this station for further updates as they become available_."

The reporter had given the info on Clint's current troubles in a bored tone, as if he'd heard the song before and was getting tired of it. The weather came on, and Natalia shut the television off as she pulled out her laptop. She took some of what the reporter said with more than a grain of salt knowing that it was a gross exaggeration of the facts. While the computer powered up, there was a knock on the door. She let the room service waiter in, signed the check and closed the door. Removing the cover from the entrée, she gave the food a halfhearted scowl. After the news report about Clint, she'd lost her appetite, but her body still needed fuel so she ate while she worked.

Accessing the hotel's Wi-Fi network, she attached the anti-tracking device, and tapped the keys in a specific pattern that would give her entry to sites the general public didn't even know existed. By the time her plate was empty, she had the name of the rehab facility where Clint was a patient _and_ the alias he was checked in under. She would have to break him out, but not until Selvig was ready for them.

Selvig hadn't given her a specific time to appear at the lab, and that meant she would have to call him after all. Right after she spoke to Coulson.

Her call to Clint's manager went to voice mail so she left a message. "Mr. Coulson, this is Natalia, Clint's friend. I need you to meet me at Culver University in the astrophysics lab two weeks from this coming Saturday. Ask for Dr. Erik Selvig. All will be explained once we're together."

The call to Selvig also went unanswered, and again she left a message. "Fury is dead and Hill is unavailable. The rest of us will meet you at the lab as requested, and we'll arrive separately. That's the best I can do for a timeframe."

Sitting in front of her laptop, she stared at the monitor without really seeing in. With luck, their lives would be back to normal soon. In that other timeline, her family was long dead and buried. The remorse for that version of the Romanova family was overshadowed by the lack of same for those still alive in this one. Though she hadn't seen them since she was seven and all three had perished in service to their country, she missed her brothers. Her parents, not so much.

Refocusing, Natalia accessed a secured database and typed the names Yelizaveta and Viktor Romanova into the search box. It took only a few moments to receive results. Viktor Romanova had died over a year ago of a heart attack, but Yelizaveta was still living in Stalingrad, now called Volgograd. She made note of the address then accessed a popular travel site and made a reservation for the next morning.

And that's how she found herself standing outside the home she'd last seen from the back window of Ivan Petrovitch's car when she was seven. Her mother and father hadn't even waved good-bye.

Taking a deep breath, Natalia walked up to the house and climbed the three steps to the front door. She lifted her hand and hesitated only a moment before knocking. The sound of shuffling feet in worn slippers reached her ears just before the door was opened by a slender woman with gray hair and glasses. Her clothing was old and faded yet in good repair. She peered at Natalia without recognition. "_Da?_"

Surprised at how choked up she'd become, Natalia cleared her throat and summoned a small smile. "_Privet_, Matushka." The woman looked confused as she opened the screen door to examine Natalia closer. "_Ya __doch'_, Natalia."

Yelizaveta Romanova's eyes widened with astonishment and wonder. "_Angel moy!_" Before Natalia could stop her, Yelizaveta had gathered her in a tight hug and tears were streaming down her face.

~~O~~

After the visit with her mother, Natalia returned to the same hotel at which she'd been staying before the very odd trip to Russia. She'd stayed for a week and in that time her mother had begged her forgiveness again and again for what they'd done to her when she was a child. Yelizaveta and Viktor had regretted their decision almost immediately, but when they went to the school where Petrovitch had said Natalia would be taken, they were told that no one by that name had ever taught there. They'd even contacted an attorney, but were told that the contract was ironclad and nothing could be done. Natalia wasn't certain that she believed anything her mother was saying, but she pretended for the old woman's sake.

Now that she was back in the U.S., Natalia wished she'd stayed just a little longer. But it was too late to return. She had plans to make before meeting with Selvig and Coulson at the lab. On more than one occasion she tried to contact Clint, but he wasn't permitted to take calls at this point in his treatment. From the tone of the nurse's voice, Clint wasn't behaving himself, which was no surprise. Actually, Natalia would've been surprised if he _had_ been a model patient.

Hanging up the phone, Natalia made the decision to take the next couple of days off, just as soon as she took care of one last piece of business. She made one more call then shut the phone off and put it in the bedside table drawer where it would stay until check-out. The temperature was a little cool for a bathing suit, but she still wanted to take in a little sun so she stayed in her slacks and long sleeved shirt, grabbed her credit card and headed for the lobby. When she reached the patio, it was deserted except for one other person. They ignored each other and that was fine with her. Natalia set her drink on the table and opened the paperback she'd purchased in the gift shop.

**A Few Days Later**

Closing down her laptop, Natalia packed everything but a single change of clothes then took a quick shower.

On the way to the airport, she called one of her contacts to arrange a ride to California, then from there back to Santa Fe with a second passenger. Jenny was amenable as long as she didn't have to carry luggage or make small talk. She liked her special request flights to be short and sweet. Unfortunately, this wouldn't be one of them. Average flying time between Santa Fe and San Diego was approximately five hours. It would take at least ninety minutes for her to reach the rehab facility. That gave her somewhere close to seven hours to figure out how she would get Clint out of a secure facility. This might be one of the times she had to wing it.

At the airport, Natalia tossed her bags into the back of the Cessna Crusader, closed and locked the door then took her seat to the right of the pilot. Without fanfare, Jenny called the tower to request take-off instructions and soon they were in the air.

Natalia leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes. An unknown amount of time later, someone grabbed her and she reacted by instinct, lashing out with her left arm only to have it blocked. Most people wouldn't have seen the blow coming, but then Jenny wasn't your average citizen. She and Natalia were all that was left of the girls that Dr. Ian Petrovitch had trained as spies and assassins. While Natalia had chosen to remain in the business, Jenny had opted for the more traditional life-style of a home and family. All the girls at the facility had been experimented on with the result that none of them were able to bear children. But Jenny had gotten lucky in love. She met and married a man with two children who adored her as she did them. Her husband had been told everything about Jenny's past, and he loved her anyway, or because of it, Natalia didn't know which. Until now, it hadn't mattered. "_Mne ochen' zhal'_."

"You're jumpier than usual, Natalia. What's going on?" For a long moment, Natalia didn't respond as she attempted to work out her thought processes and how much to tell her friend. Then, before she could make a decision either way, Jenny chuckled. "I get it now. It's that guy. The one I saw you with the other day." Reluctantly, Natalia nodded, but Jenny wasn't done. "You're in love with him, aren't you?"

"Love is for…" Natalia didn't finish the automatic response that had been drilled into her brain from the day her parents sold her to Petrovitch. One of the first lessons that all the girls had learned had been a sort of mantra: love is for children. If that were true then how did it explain Jenny and her husband and their kids? They adored each other and showed it every day.

"That's bull**** and you know it." Jenny set the autopilot and turned to look her in the eye. "Say his name."

Natalia's forehead crinkled in confusion. "I'm sorry?"

The pilot huffed. "Just do it. Please."

She didn't know what this exercise was supposed to accomplish, but she complied with a huff of her own, "Clint." Jenny looked confused so she explained, "Jimmy Blue is his stage name."

Jenny peered closer, her eyes widening, as did her self-satisfied grin. "You _do_ love him!"

Turning to look out the side window, Natalia crossed her arms. "That's ridiculous. He's simply a means to an end. Nothing more."

"Oh? And does that end have anything to do with walking down the aisle and having birdseed thrown at you?"

"No! And I thought you didn't like talking while you were flying."

Jenny chuckled, that smirk still going strong. "That was before I knew you were in love, and teasing you is so much more fun than staring at the clouds."

"I haven't confirmed that assertion."

Snorting, Jenny put her hands back on the controls and spoke to the air traffic controller who directed them to a new vector. Natalia should've known that wouldn't be the end of it, and it wasn't. "You haven't denied it either, _moy drug_."

Jenny began to hum a tune Natalia didn't recognize and wouldn't give her the satisfaction of asking. Eventually, she stopped humming, but continued to grin. Natalia ignored her, turning to look out the window. She fell asleep, waking when the plane touched down at the airport.

There was nothing in her luggage she needed at the moment so she left the bags on board, taking only her wallet. "You know where to pick us up?"

All business now, Jenny nodded. "Three hours at the coordinates you provided." Her friend swooped in to draw Natalia into a hug. "Good luck, _moy drug._"

Though surprised at this sudden show of affection from Jenny, Natalia returned the gesture with genuine fondness of her own. "_Spasibo_, Galina."

~~O~~

The receptionist looked up from her e-Reader when she heard someone clearing their throat. The woman had black hair in a plain style that did nothing to enhance her features. Her clothing was the same. A skirt that stopped just below her knees topped off with a tailored blouse and a cardigan that looked like it had once belonged to her grandmother. Her black framed glasses were too large and too plain to be fashionable. Over one shoulder she carried an enormous bag. "May I help you?"

"_Da_. I am here to see Dominic Trask. He is available, yes?"

"And _you_ are?"

No smile graced her features, not even her eyes as she passed over her ID. "Natasha, his spiritual advisor. Please let him know that I am here."

"I'll have to confer with my supervisor first. Please have a seat, Ms.…?"

She waved a hand dismissively and the receptionist almost laughed because she was wearing a pair of wrist length white cotton gloves. It was like the woman had gotten stuck in the fifties. "Please. Just Natasha."

The receptionist stepped through the open office door and was out again in just a few moments. She handed a visitor's badge to the odd woman. "Mr. Trask in is his room just like he is every day. Room 312 in the Harmony wing at the end of the hall on the left."

"Thank you."

When the woman had moved out of hearing range, the facility's director stepped out of her office both women watching Natasha walk away. To the director, the receptionist said, "She gives me the creeps. You sure it's okay to let her in?"

The director, a woman wearing what was often called a power suit, crossed her arms and nodded. "Trask's POA left a list of people who are allowed to visit and she's one of them."

As the director returned to her office, the receptionist picked up the e-Reader and went back to her book.

~~O~~

Keeping her stride unhurried, Natalia followed the main corridor to an open common area decorated in soothing tones of muted green, brown and orange with a touch of blue and red to give it a more cheerful appearance. The furniture had the outward appearance of antiques, but her experienced eye caught the telltale touches that marked them as reproductions. Instead of potted flowers, which would've done wonders for the patients, these were silk as were the plants. In her opinion, most people would benefit from being closer to nature. Meditation and exercise helped as well, but she wasn't here to tell them how to do their jobs.

The different wings of the facility branched off the common area, Harmony, Peace, Tranquility and Grace. Soft music that reminded Natalia of the time she'd been stuck in an elevator played in the background. It had annoyed her so much that she climbed out the roof hatch long before the first responders could mount a rescue thereby blowing her cover. The mission had to be rushed, but she got it done.

The door to Clint's room was standing ajar, the sound of a basketball game filtering out into the hall. She knocked, but there was no answer. The door made no sound as she pushed it open and closed it again. "Clint?"

He was on the bed closest to the window, asleep with the remote in one hand, bandages from his injuries still in evidence. How he hadn't been hurt worse was a miracle. Touching him on the shoulder, she gave a small shake startling him awake. "Wha-"

"Clint? It's Natasha. Hi."

At the sound of her voice, he sat up, the remote falling to the floor as he swung his feet over the side and stood. "You're here."

"Yes." Natalia would've said more, but Clint had drawn her tightly against his chest. At the first touch of his lips on hers, she was lost, and within moments they were on the bed together. Their joining was all over in just a few minutes, and they lay there for a moment, sharing sheepish smiles. Clint got to his feet, straightening his clothes while she did the same. After a moment, he took her hand and they sat together on the bed. "I don't have to ask what happened, Clint. It's all over the news. How do you feel?"

Clint waggled his hand. "Better now that you're here. They're still giving me sedatives and there isn't a part of my body that doesn't ache. I don't know how you do what you do every day without ending up in traction."

"Exercise, good nutrition, and it helps if you've had genetic enhancements." At his startled glance, she smiled. "Never mind. We're leaving."

"Why?"

Natalia opened her bag, taking out two sets of dark clothing similar to what he'd worn at the warehouse. Under the circumstances, she had dispensed with the catsuit she preferred. "There's a scientist by the name of Erik Selvig. He's going to help us figure out what's going on and how to fix it."

"Nat, what if…" He stopped for a moment then continued dressing. "What if we change things and it makes everything worse?"

Shrugging, Natalia removed the black wig, tossing it and the clothes she'd discarded back into the bag. Weapons that had been designed to escape detection were shoved into pockets. She handed one to Clint, but he didn't take it. He held up his hands as if afraid to touch it. "You probably won't need it, but just in case."

"Fine, but I'm not shooting _anyone_, even if they want me to."

She tucked a gun into the back waistband of her pants and pulled her vest down over it, and he copied her. "That's what _I_ said in the beginning. Being threatened with imminent death changes your point of view rather quickly."

"So, how old were you? You know, when you started…"

Clint's eyes fell on her shorter hair, but he didn't say anything about it. Keeping her voice neutral, she slipped on a pair of fingerless gloves then handed a pair to Clint. "Seven. We have to go. Our ride will be here soon."

He made no response to the clipped statement regarding when her training began, but she knew him well enough that he'd bring it up when they weren't in a time crunch.

"How're we getting out? All the doors and windows are alarmed."

A smirk turned up one side of her mouth. "Piece of cake."

~~O~~

A few minutes after Natalia made that flip statement, Clint was outside crouching next to her, hidden from view by a clump of tall bushes. Over the next few minutes, she gave terse orders in a chilling voice he'd never heard from her before. It literally frightened him to the point that he was afraid to question or disobey, so when she said run, he ran. When she said hide, he hid. When she said jump, he jumped. Okay, so she never actually _said_ jump. But the rest… By Clint's estimate, they'd gone over a mile before she called a halt. Panting, he flopped down on the ground sucking in gulps of air. "Don't suppose you brought water."

Natalia wiggled her fingers into one of the pockets of her vest and handed him what looked like one of those mints that banks and restaurants gave away. "Take this."

Too tired to argue, Clint removed the wrapper and popped the disk in his mouth. Unlike a piece of hard candy, it dissolved quickly, fizzing on his tongue. A few minutes later, he began to feel better than he had since he couldn't remember when. The last vestiges of the sedatives left his system giving him clarity of thought. The body aches gradually faded as well. "What the hell was _in _that?"

"Just something to take the edge off."

"Why didn't you give me this a long time ago?"

He eyes scanned the area as she made a three-sixty turn. "Because long-term use causes more problems than it alleviates. And there are just some things you have to deal with on your own. There's no such thing as a short cut when it comes to problems like yours. What I gave you temporarily alters the metabolism and brain chemistry. The downside to that is it wears off with no warning, like being hit with a super-strong tranquilizer."

"You mean my addictions. Not looking for a quick fix. I may not be the smartest man you've ever known, but I do know this: it took _years_ for me to get to this point and the only way I'm going to keep from backsliding once I've gotten clean is to find out the root cause, the _why_ behind the things I do. And despite what you and everyone else thinks, I don't do them just because I can, because the money is readily available or because everyone else is doing them."

"While that _is_ quite a breakthrough, we haven't time to engage in what amounts to fast food psychotherapy. Right now, I need you to stay sharp and keep watch on our six."

Taken aback by her angry tone that was unlike her commanding one from earlier, Clint took out the gun she'd given him and turned so that they were back to back. "What am I looking for?"

"You'll know it when you see it."

The slight pause before she spoke told Clint that she was using great restraint in not knocking him flat, and he appreciated the effort, choosing to keep his mouth shut for the time being. Not long after his vow of silence, he began to feel pressure in his ears. Because of the damage he'd sustained due to not wearing ear protection around the amplifiers all these years, Clint sometimes felt rather than heard the lower frequencies. The same way a dog hears things humans can't.

Slowly getting to his feet and holding the gun out in front of him the way Natalia had taught him, he scanned the area directly ahead, jumping back when a rope ladder dropped in front of him. The rungs were covered with metal tubing to make them sturdier. Following it up, he saw a black helicopter hovering above them. "Nat!"

Natalia was beside him in an instant, the bag over her shoulder. "Go!"

Again she used her no-nonsense voice. He obeyed, and very shortly found himself on the floor of the passenger compartment of the helicopter. Natalia climbed inside, retracted the ladder and shut the door. Without being told, the pilot wheeled around heading away from Serenity Hills. Natalia tossed the bag aside, climbed into the right front seat, buckled in and slipped on a headset. By the time she turned around, Clint had done the same. Natalia gave him a confident smile and he tried to return it, failing miserably when the helicopter tilted forty-five degrees making his stomach heave. The pilot performed several more of the nauseating twists and turns, and he got the feeling it had been on purpose just to see what he'd do. They were in the air less than an hour for which Clint was grateful. He didn't know who was piloting or where they learned to fly, but hoped he never had to do this again. Ever!

The chopper landed and all three got out. Clint resisted the urge to kiss the ground, doing his best to match Natalia's nonchalance concerning their escape from the rehab center. Natalia gave him a quick once-over, obviously concerned for his wellbeing. Nodding at the person coming up behind him, she made introductions. "Clint, this is Jenny. Jenny and I went to school together. Jenny, Clint."

Clint turned to shake hands with Jenny and nearly lost the ability to speak just like when he first met Natalia though he would go to his grave denying it. The woman had long blonde hair that reached her narrow waist, parted on the right so that a few hairs fell across her forehead, and green eyes. One side of her mouth was turned up in a smirk that dimpled her cheeks and seemed to be telling him that if she wanted Clint, she could make him hers in a heartbeat. She wasn't tall though taller than Natalia, lean and strong. She was dressed as they were, all in black, but where Clint and Natalia were wearing short sleeved T-shirts, Jenny was wearing a black tank top under her vest. Her right hand moved and that drew attention the lethal looking handgun clipped to her belt. And like when he first met Natalia, he sensed that she would shoot him between the eyes if she thought there was a good reason for it, and never look back. In spite of all of this, she had the wholesome good looks of the girl-next-door type, except for that eye gleam.

Her smirk turned into a smile of welcome showing off her straight white teeth as she extended her hand. "Pleasure to meet you, Clint. I've heard almost nothing about you."

Returning her smile and handshake, Clint nodded. "Likewise."

The wind gusted, blowing Jenny's hair in her face. She brushed it away with her left hand, the light glinting off a simple gold band on her ring finger, and Clint felt relief. He wasn't afraid to admit, to himself at least, that he'd been a little worried. Both women had an innate allure, and from the tone of Natalia's voice when she said they'd gone to school together, he guessed that Jenny too had the ability to seduce any man she wanted. Clint had been just a little nervous that Jenny might turn on the charm and get him into even more trouble than he was already.

To Natalia, Jenny said, "We're all gassed up so let's get going. My daughter has a ballet recital tonight and I don't want to be late."

Clint reached past Natalia to grab the bag before she could, ignoring her attempts to catch his eye. Right now, he didn't think he would be able to keep from wanting to make love to her again, though it really had nothing to do with his reaction to Jenny. When they were together in his room, it had been over so quickly he'd spent such a short time with her bare skin touching and sliding against his that he really needed to feel it again. He thought about them becoming members of the mile-high club, but there wasn't nearly enough room to do so in the small plane Jenny was leading them towards.

With little fanfare, they went aboard and buckled in. Jenny asked for and received clearance to take off and soon they were in the air.

What they didn't see was a man wearing coveralls take out his phone and make a quick call. "It's me…They just took off…The flight plan she filed said they're headed for Santa Fe…No problem. Happy to help…Of course, Lieutenant Hill…Just call if you have any more side jobs you'd like done. I'm sure we can come to some sort of agreement regarding payment…No, I don't have a problem with relocating…_No_, I don't miss our time in Afghanistan, Lieutenant…Yes, ma'am. I'll be waiting for your call."

**TBC**


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N:** This is another AU of the Avengers, post movie. Many thanks to ladygris for doing the Beta services again.

**Warning:** This story includes references to drug and alcohol use and abuse. The upcoming chapters are very emotional and intense. There may also be spoilers for _Captain America: The Winter Soldier._ You've been warned.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the Avengers, Marvel, Facebook, Twitter or YouTube. If I've left anything out, aside from the OC characters, I don't own them/it either. Someone else does.

Namaste,

Sandy

How cruelly sweet are the echoes that start,

When memory plays an old tune on the heart.

~Eliza Cook

**Avengers**

**Echoes**

**Chapter 16**

"Hill…What've you got for me, Sergeant? Santa Fe…Thank you…I'll send your usual contractor's fee…I will. Out of curiosity, if a position should open up in the current structure, would you like to be considered as a candidate? What about relocating? I see…At least it's not Kandahar…Agreed…I'll contact you soon."

Hill ended the call from her informant with a sharp jab, the only outward expression of her anger. What she'd hoped she wouldn't come about appeared to be more than just a possibility. Natalia was her friend, but she was also the enemy looking to take away all that Hill had been working for: power and tax free wealth that would lead to a very comfortable retirement on a tropical island that had no extradition treaty with the U.S. Hill lived a modest life-style, the home of the big island being her only real indulgence. Natalia had knowledge of the purchase, but couldn't know the real reason or she'd have said something before now because it would be leverage, something to hold over Hill's head in case of a falling out like the one they were having now even if Natalia didn't know they were having it.

She went to the safe, pressed her thumb to the fingerprint scanner and presented her right eye for verification through the retinal scanner. Using the key she carried around her neck inside her shirt, she opened a locked case, taking out a cell phone. She activated the jamming device that would prevent anyone from locking in on her signal and turned it on. There was only one number in the contact list and she dialed it now. It was answered on the second ring.

"_Hello?_"

If anyone could see Hill's face at that moment, they would've been stunned by the gentle smile that was so unlike the one she showed to most of the world. "Hi, Mom."

"_Maria! It's so good to hear your voice, honey. How's the international finance business, or can't you say?_"

Just for a moment, Hill felt ten years old again, running home from school to be greeted with a hug and a loving smile. "It's going well, Mom. So well in fact that I wanted to run an idea by you, if you have a few minutes."

The scrape of a chair over tile told Hill that her mother was making herself comfortable at the bar counter in the kitchen. "_I always have time for my baby girl. What's up?_"

With a lump in her throat, Hill pushed ahead. "You've always wanted to visit France. Well, how would you like to _live_ there? I'll even hire someone to teach you French. I, uh, have a meeting, Mom. I'll call you soon. Love you."

Hill locked the phone in the safe again before contacting Freddie. Young and eager, he was in her office within seconds. _Maybe too eager_, she thought. Her gaze pinned him, but unlike most people, he didn't squirm. He just stood there, hands clasped behind his back, silently awaiting orders. The special projects she'd given him recently had been completed quickly and with minimal hassle. Just the way she liked it. "Gather a team you can trust. You, me and six others."

"Yes, ma'am."

That was Freddie's stock response to whatever request she made of him, no matter what it was, getting her coffee or disposing of an FBI mole. It was all the same to him. The only time he'd shown any emotion was when she's shortened his name to Freddie. "And ready the plane. We're taking a trip."

"Where to?"

"Santa Fe." This time, he nodded while making notes on the small tablet he always carried. Hill had already checked the device out. He sent emails and IMs internally, accessed the calendar, and periodically synced it with the network. He had no electronic contact with the outside world. She insisted that her people take time off to recharge, and he availed himself of that benefit. On several occasions, Hill had had him followed to see where he went and what he did. He didn't seem to have any outside interests aside from playing in a softball league as an outfielder and tinkering with an old car he was restoring. Freddie had shown her respect. Maybe it was time to give some back. "Wheels up in two hours, Frederick."

At the use of his given name, Freddie allowed a small smile of gratitude to show. "I'll take care of it, ma'am."

~~O~~

"Where are we _going?_" Clint asked again. The look Natalia shot him was filled with annoyance. "You still haven't said, and I'm not moving until you tell me what I want to know."

"To see someone who can help us. Just get. In. The car!" Arms crossed, his chin jutted out stubbornly, Clint weighed the options available to him coming up with a big, fat zero. He just wanted Natalia to know that he wasn't always going to follow her blindly into whatever situation came up. Not after what happened at the warehouse. She glared at him and he glared back. Seeing that he was serious, she grudgingly tacked on the magic word, "Please."

Clint relented and claimed shotgun. Not that he had to fight anyone for it because Jenny wasn't coming with them. "What's this someone's name? Can you at least tell me that much?"

"Erik Selvig. He's an astrophysicist and has been having the same kind of dreams, though much worse."

Chuckling humorlessly, Clint looked out the side window to avoid Natalia's gaze. Oh, he knew she was keeping a close eye on him, but didn't know if it was because of his breakdown or the drug she'd given him. Both maybe. Looking for signs that he was about to pass out. "Well it can't get much worse than this last one." His heart started racing as the memory returned with a vengeance barreling through the walls he'd started constructing to hide behind. Taking a few deep breaths, he attempted to bring his treacherous mind under control without success. The voices of the dead and dying raged inside his head, calling his name, reminding him that it was his fault. "Nat, in that other timeline I caused the deaths of fifty-three agents, including Coulson and thousands of civilians. They lost their lives because of what _I_ did. Something like that can't be fixed or wished away or forgotten with alcohol and drugs, no matter how hard you try. And believe me, I tried _really_ hard. And _look_ where it got me. It-It's just not…I don't think I can do this much longer."

Suddenly, the car swerved off to the side of the road. Natalia put the car in park and turned to face him, and the look in her eyes was partly a reprimand. What the rest was, he could only speculate. She reached out and took hold of his hand where it lay on his thigh. "_You_ didn't kill _anyone_, Clint. It was Loki. It was all Loki."

"He took over my mind. Replaced _my_ thoughts with _his_ and used me to kill and maim and-and _kill_…" Clint jumped out of the car and began pacing, clenching and unclenching his hands, over and over. He was drowning in the emotions now raging within him, faster and faster, coming closer and closer to the abyss he'd nearly fallen into just a few days ago. Then, he wasn't ready to take the next step to end the agony, but now…

He reached for the gun shoved into his back waistband, holding in it both hands just looking at its matte black finish. It would only take a moment, just an instant of pain and then blessed oblivion. As if he'd been doing it all his life, Clint pulled back the slide to chamber a round, but before he could take the safety off and place the barrel against his temple, his legs were knocked out from under him, the gun flying into the bushes.

Rolling to his feet, he spun on his right foot, lashing out with his left, barely missing Natalia as she dodged to the side. He planted that foot and dropped down to sweep his leg around, intent on knocking her on her ass. She jumped and he missed. When she landed, her arms were raised to defend herself, which she did without a trace of emotion. Every move he made, she countered as if he were nothing more than a troublesome fly.

Clint blocked and countered each of her next few strikes then, he got lucky. One of his kicks sent her sprawling in the grass. He pressed forward as she leapt to her feet, grabbed the light pole and swung around to kick him in the stomach. He doubled over and that position allowed him to grab a branch, swinging it left and right, each time missing her by mere inches.

Again, Natalia lashed out, her foot knocking the branch away. Her other foot caught him behind the knee knocking him onto his back and jarring those muscles that were still sore from the car accident. To his surprise, Natalia turned and ran. He gave chase, sensing he'd been fooled too late to stop.

Natalia used the light pole to perform a back flip, coming down to land on his shoulders. The impact made him stumble. She jumped free, turned and as he came in with a left cross, she grabbed his arm, hyperextending his elbow. He reached around with the other hand to clench his fingers in her hair and pull. He released her when she jammed her elbow into his solar plexus.

Summoning all his strength, Clint used his forearm to knock her away. Crouching slightly, he went for his knife, remembering too late that he wasn't carrying one. While his attention was momentarily diverted, Natalia brought her arm across her chest, poised for a backward forearm strike, but he never felt the blow.

~~O~~

Natalia stopped in mid strike when Clint's eyes lost focus and a moment later, he was passed out on the ground. Slightly winded, she crouched next to him, pressing two fingers under his jaw. His pulse was strong and steady. Looking from Clint to the car and back, she got to her feet, wiping a trickle of blood from her mouth. "You couldn't've passed out _in_ the car instead of next to it?"

She was strong, but this Clint wasn't as trim at the other one and outweighed her by at least fifty pounds. With a huff of frustration, she resigned herself to manhandling him into the car on her own.

Grabbing the shoulders of his vest, Natalia dragged him around to the trunk. Placing him in a sitting position, she wrapped her arms around him from behind and lifted. Her height and his weight made it more difficult than it would've been under normal circumstances. And so, it was with a lot swearing-and the occasional grunt-she finally got him into the trunk with his feet hanging out.

Natalia put his legs in, arranged his limbs so he wouldn't wake up stiff then grabbed a couple of items from one of the locked cases. Going into the bushes, she came out moments later with the gun Clint had lost during their fight. Getting behind the wheel, she shoved the gun in the glove box, put the car in gear and took off in a shower of gravel and burning rubber muttering under her breath about stubborn men.

By the time she reached the university, Natalia had lost most of her anger with Clint. How could he possibly think it was his fault or taking his own life would atone for the lives that had been lost? In this timeline, those people were still alive or, if you believed in predestination, had died in other ways because they were meant to die on _that_ day, at _that_ time. Natalia didn't know what to believe, but did know that Clint wouldn't knowingly take another life if there were doubts that the world would be a better place without that person in it, unless he was being controlled by an outside force such as a demi-god straight out of Norse legend.

A loud snore came from the rear of the car making Natalia grin in spite of everything. She parked the car in the security camera's blind spot and got out. She programmed one of the burner phones she'd taken from the trunk with the number of another and placed it under Clint's hand. Locking the doors, she let herself in through the lab's rear entrance leaving the alarm off though it would look like it was still activated to security.

On her way to the third floor of the L-shaped building, she sent a text to the phone she left with Clint letting him know where to find her when he woke up, which wouldn't be for a while yet. There was only one lab occupied at this time and she headed for it. As she reached the lab Coulson could be heard talking on his phone in urgent tones, pacing back and forth at the opposite end of the room from where Selvig worked at a computer. Coulson saw her and huffed. Into the phone he said, "Let me call you back."

Natalia nodded to Selvig. He acknowledged her presence by staring for ten seconds then returning to his work. Before she could greet Coulson, he was in her face and not in a good way. He was livid. "You broke Clint out of rehab. Why?"

Refusing to rise to the bait, Natalia said, "You _know_ why. He's a part of this, like it or not. Without him, we might as well not even bother. But you do what you want, Coulson. I, for one, refuse to give up."

"That's _not_ what I was saying. Clint needs help and he won't get it _here._"

"If we can get the timeline back on track then rehab won't be necessary because none of this would have happened." Natalia tugged on her hair trying to calm herself as she paced. "Clint remembers his training with SHIELD. Not consciously, but he _does_ remember."

Coulson looked at her as if he was questioning her sanity, but she could see it wasn't real. The man was posturing or trying to convince himself that everything was just a delusion they all shared. "How do you _know?_ His life the last few weeks hasn't exactly been normal. Maybe he was telling you what he thought you wanted to hear."

Facing Coulson again, Natalia crossed her arms. Not as a defensive gesture, but to keep from beating the crap out of him. "Let's just say I received a demonstration. He was quite convincing."

"Fine. _Don't_ tell me. By the way, where _is_ the bastion of morality?"

"In the car. Sleeping." She felt a slight twinge of guilt for not telling Coulson that she'd had to stop Clint from shooting himself and that they'd had a physical fight over it, but it was for his-and Clint's-own good that she kept it to herself for the moment. If Coulson knew about Clint's suicide attempt, he'd have him returned to rehab and put on suicide watch. That's not what they needed. She needed Coulson to believe that Clint was good to be out in the world. Then, when Clint joined them, if he wanted to tell Coulson what happened, she wouldn't try to stop him.

Leaving Coulson to stew, Natalia approached Selvig. The scientist hadn't said a word to anyone since she arrived. All he'd done was work at his computers. She counted a total of six that were networked together as well as to the university's mainframe. Standing in front of Selvig, she waited for him to acknowledge her.

"Something I can help you with, Agent Romanoff?"

"Don't call me that. Natalia will do." She took a step closer. "I have some knowledge of computers. If you like, I can assist."

Without stopping what he was doing, Selvig asked, "Do you know anything about thermonuclear astrophysics, general relativity, geometries of space-time, causality, the Novikov self-consistency principle, quantum gravity, chronology protection conjecture, the Gödel solution, the lambdavacuum solution, quantum mechanics, cosmic strings, or the Einstein-Rosen bridge?"

"No."

Selvig moved over to another computer. "Then you have your answer. What you _can_ do is get me some coffee and something to eat."

Annoyed by Selvig's dismissive tone, Natalia jammed her fists into her hips and glared. "Shall I schedule a massage and mani-pedi while I'm at it?"

He either didn't notice the caustic tone or didn't care. Probably both. "That won't be necessary. Just food, coffee and water. Some of those energy drinks too."

Natalia opened her mouth to respond with a sharp retort that would burn the paint off the walls when Coulson interrupted. "I'll go. I got nothing to do around here anyway."

Giving Coulson a smile and nod of thanks, she watched until he'd gone then began roaming around the lab checking that the windows were secure as were the doors that led to other labs. After that, she went into the hall and did a thorough sweep of the rest of the floor. The entire building needed canvassing, but she refused to leave Selvig unprotected.

When Coulson returned over an hour later, Natalia was crouched beside the scientist handing him tools as he requested them. If he didn't think she was moving fast enough he would snap his fingers and make hurry up motions. It got old really fast.

Coulson unloaded the bags onto the end of a table that held a variety of electronic equipment of unknown-to her and Coulson-origins. Proving that he understood the seriousness of the situation, Coulson was careful not to move or touch anything.

Selvig got to his feet and went back to his computers, and Natalia took that as a cue that he didn't need her anymore. She went to help Coulson unpack the bags and put those things that needed to be refrigerated into the mini-fridge in the corner. Most of the food he brought didn't need to be cooked for which Natalia was grateful. She opened a pre-made sandwich and one of the snack sized chips, placed both on a disposable plate, picked up one of the energy drinks and carried both over to Selvig. He said nothing when she placed it near him. Just grabbed one half of the sandwich and took an enormous bite.

Returning to Coulson, she found that he'd moved stools to the end of the table and made a plate for each of them. Once she was seated, he sat as well. "Where's Clint?"

"Probably still asleep. Why?"

"I looked in all the cars and didn't see him. Thought he came upstairs."

She tore open a bag of chips then did the same to one of the sandwiches. "He's in the trunk.

"The trunk? _Why?_"

Shrugging, she picked up a bottle of water and twisted the top off. "Long story. He's fine. I left a text where to find us."

For the next few minutes, Coulson ate while he watched her without speaking. After a while, he pointed with his chin. "What's Selvig doing?"

Natalia kept her features set in a blank mask. "I've already located what I believe is the defining moment where the timelines diverge. What Selvig is trying to do is figure out a way to correct the timeline."

"If you know when the divergence occurred, doesn't, by its very nature, give us the solution?"

She chewed and swallowed before answering. "Yes. We know what the solution is, that's not the problem. The problem is how do we make the correction? Because the change was made in the past, the obvious solution is that someone would have to travel back to that point in time and see to it that the original timeline is allowed to play out as it was supposed to."

Coulson opened a bottle of water and drank down half of it all without taking his eyes off of her. He recapped the bottle and set it aside to pick up part of his sandwich. "Sounds like you've given this a lot of thought."

Her eyes dropped to the plate and back to Coulson's as she plucked a chip from the bag. "That's because I have a lot riding on the outcome. Once I realized that the dreams weren't really dreams but echoes of that other existence, I knew I had to find Clint and Selvig in order for everything to go back to the way it should."

"And the only way to do that is for someone to travel back in time and see to it that history plays out as it did in the original timeline. But what if you change something that you shouldn't have changed? How does that affect the already corrupt timeline? Or does that timeline disappear and a new one takes its place?"

Picking up a paper towel, Natalia wiped her mouth while she formulated a response. "In my opinion, the reason we're experiencing these echoes is because this timeline should never have been created. It only came into being because someone else went back and made the change, but it wasn't the change they were hoping for."

"On what fact do you base your hypothesis?"

She gathered the trash together and went to throw it out. "It's just a feeling I have. How else would I know things about people who, until just a short time ago, I'd never heard of?"

The stool Coulson was sitting on scraped across the floor as he scooted back from the table and came to stand in front of her, leaning against the wall, hands in his pockets. "Oh? What do you know about me that can't be found on the Internet?"

Giving him a contemplative look, Natalia searched her memory for some piece of Coulson that wouldn't be in his online bio. "Since you have only my word that I've never looked you up, there isn't much I could say that would make you believe me."

"Try me."

"Okay. Your birthday is April 2, 1965. Your parents are Robert and Julie. You're a huge fan of the fictional comic book character Captain America. Your high school girlfriend's name was Holly Madigan. She broke up with you after graduation. After college and before you became Clint's manager, you dated a cellist by the name of Chloe Hasham. You broke up when she took a second chair with the Portland, Oregon Philharmonic. Oh, and you have a half-sister, Malina Murray." Coulson's slightly bored demeanor changed at this last. That told Natalia that the information about Malina wasn't included in his online biography. No, there was more to the issue of his half-sister than it not being public knowledge. Searching her memory, she saw where she made her mistake. The other Coulson doesn't find out about Malina until after the alien invasion and the procedures that brought him back to life.

Natalia became confused herself. This was the first she remembered that the other Coulson had died and been resurrected through SHIELD medical technology reverse-engineered from the Kree.

"You're mistaken. I don't _have_ a sister."

"She may not exist in this timeline."

Shaking his head, Coulson looked over his shoulder at Selvig and back to her. "She _does_, but she's _not_ my sister. We were in the same trig class in high school, but we hardly ever spoke. She always looked at me funny." He stumbled to a stop as if the reason just occurred to him. "And Chloe's in Portland, _Maine_, not Oregon."

"In the other timeline, it's reversed." He seemed to accept her explanation though whether as proof or not, she couldn't tell. _Maybe now we can get past all this __crap__ and have a conversation about the important issues._ Natalia tilted her head down, closed her eyes and exhaled. When their eyes met again, she could see that he knew what was coming next.

One hand went into his pants pocket and the other massaged his forehead as he paced away from her a few steps then turned to look at her again. "You seem to be the one with all the answers. How did it happen? The Cliff Notes."

Tossing a glance at Selvig, Natalia lowered her voice pointing her chin at the scientist. "He was testing a device called the Tesseract. A portal to another realm was opened and Loki came through."

"Clint mentioned him. Who is he?"

"According to Norse legend, Loki is the brother of Thor, the god of thunder. The guy with the hammer," she added by way of explanation. "Using an alien scepter, Loki takes over the minds of Selvig, Agent Dodd…and Clint."

Coulson put up a hand to stop her. "I got the gist from Clint on that. What I don't get is how he, the other me, was killed."

Suddenly weary, Natalia took a seat on the stool. "Loki was captured and taken to the SHIELD boat, sort of a flying aircraft carrier for spies. Somehow, he got out of his cell, and when Coulson tried to stop him, Loki stabbed him through the heart with the scepter."

As if it were happening now, Coulson grunted in pain, a hand going to his chest as he leaned forward slightly. He seemed to be out of breath. "I-I remember now. The director found me just before I died. But that doesn't explain why Clint thinks it's _his_ fault."

"Because he wasn't strong enough to resist when Loki took over his mind. He believes that if he had refused to give in, that the people who died in the invasion would still be alive."

"Including me."

She gave him a sad smile and a head shake. "Through the use of same very advanced medical technology, you were brought back to life and went on to head up a specialized branch of SHIELD handpicked by you." Crossing her legs, she linked her hands around the top knee. "But Clint can't see past all the deaths for which he holds himself accountable. That on top of losing his family all in one week was too much for him. I doubt he meant half the things he did or tried to do to himself."

"What do you mean 'tried to do to himself'? Am I missing something here?"

Glancing at the clock, Natalia pulled up her right pants leg and unstrapped the ankle holster. "That's Clint's story to tell, not mine. I'm going to check the building and the perimeter. Phone."

"Pardon?"

"Give me your cell phone." Without a word, Coulson did as she said. She programmed her number into it and took note of his before handing it back along with the handgun. "Keep an eye on Selvig while I'm gone. Call if you see or hear _anything_. I'll swing by the car and check on Clint as well."

Coulson accepted the weapon, holding it in his hand as if it would bite him. "I don't know anything about guns."

With a growl, she took out the Ruger, tossed the holster on the table and slapped the gun into Coulson's hand, quickly positioning his hand to hold it. "This is the safety. It has to be off to shoot. Point this end at the bad guys and pull the trigger, but only if you sense a threat to yourself or Selvig. Do _not_ shoot Clint _or_ me. Got it?"

Slightly taken aback, Coulson nodded. "Got it."

Leaving the two men alone, Natalia made short work of casing the building. Aside from their small group, there was only a single security guard at the main entrance. She bypassed the alarm on a first floor window, climbed out and ran to the car. Clint was still asleep in the trunk. To aid him when he woke up, she shoved a Maglite in his shirt pocket and placed his hand on it. She also made certain that the cell phone hadn't moved. Just before she closed the trunk lid, she brushed the long hairs from his forehead letting her fingers linger just a moment.

Crossing the grassy area next to the building, she looked up at the sky. The sun was starting to set and the entire campus felt deserted. Good. That made things easier. Fewer people to worry about. And with Monday being a holiday, they could stay all weekend and not run into anyone.

Natalia climbed in the same window she'd come out of, reset the alarm and returned to the third floor.

~~O~~

Crouched behind the decorative wall that surrounded the university campus, Hill and the rest of her team waited in the dark. Their hiding place faced away from the main road and with it being a holiday weekend there was little to no traffic. A cool wind skittered and skipped through the trees shaking the branches and rattling the bushes that had just been trimmed by the landscapers. The smell of fresh earth tickled her nose reminding Hill of helping her mother in garden when she was a child. Mom would dig the hole, little Maria would place the plant in and together they would cover the roots with soil. The only time she worked in the garden these days was when visiting her mother in Hawaii. An event that didn't happen often enough though Hill made the trip as frequently as possible. In taking over the organization, she'd set herself up for even longer hours than she worked under Fury's leadership. She hadn't planned on removing him that night at the warehouse, but an opportunity presented itself that was too good to pass up, so she'd taken it and placed the blame elsewhere.

She, Freddie and the rest of the team were here now to rectify what had seemed to be a sound business move at the time. Ironically, it had taken only a few days to see that bringing Natalia in as her second was a bad idea, but it had taken a couple _weeks_ to locate her.

Hill brought her weapon to bear when running footsteps approached. She lowered it when Freddie hunkered down next to her. A long time ago, she made the decision not to get involved with anyone under her command. Not that Fury had forbidden it. He didn't encourage it, either. The forming of bonds romantic or otherwise hadn't concerned him, but Hill was different. In her opinion, you can't effectively assert control over someone who's seen you naked. When she needed physical intimacy, she went elsewhere. With Freddie so close and smelling of the woods after a rainstorm, she began to consider a temporary change to that policy.

"They're on the third floor, west side. There was only one security guard. He won't be a problem." Slipping on the infrared glasses as a signal, Hill waited for her team to do the same. Freddie already wore his, reaching up to adjust their position on his nose as he continued his report. "There's just the three of them. A scientist, the Black Widow and another guy. Four exits total. The main entrance, a loading dock, and two fire exits. I've disabled the alarms though they'll appear active to anyone monitoring the system. Same with the cameras. The loading dock gates are disabled too. They're not getting out that way."

"Okay. Here's the plan. Frederick, you're with me on the front. Hinsdale and Muldoon, take the east entrance. Pearce and Meyrick, the west. Baxter and Lesko, guard the exits. If anyone gets past us, take them down."

"What's the plan, ma'am?" Freddie asked more for the benefit of the others than for himself because they'd already discussed tonight's raid.

Hill met the eyes of each team member. "We take them out and destroy the equipment."

Meyrick, a woman with very short blonde hair and an overly muscular body, put in, "We have the means to bring down the entire building. Why bother taking the risk of being caught inside?"

Wanting to snarl at the woman, Hill managed to refrain. How could Meyrick know what was going on in her superior's mind? "Because I want to see the Black Widow's face when I tell her I've already killed her lover."

**TBC**


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N:** This is another AU of the Avengers, post movie. Many thanks to ladygris for doing the Beta services again.

**Warning:** This story includes references to drug and alcohol use and abuse. Also, the upcoming chapters are very emotional and intense. You've been warned.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the Avengers, Marvel, Facebook, Twitter or YouTube. If I've left anything out, aside from the OC characters, I don't own them/it either. Someone else does.

Namaste,

Sandy

How cruelly sweet are the echoes that start,

When memory plays an old tune on the heart.

~Eliza Cook

**Avengers**

**Echoes**

**Chapter 17**

"And have you?" This time it was Baxter. The man always asked stupid questions, but he was loyal and hard working or Hill would've removed him a long time ago.

She snorted. "No. But _she_ doesn't need to know that. We'll get to him soon enough. He won't be hard to find. Just follow the news."

~~O~~

Clint awoke to complete darkness. "Oh, ****, Nat. You weren't kidding about passing out. Where the hell are we? Nat?" He tried to sit up falling back when he hit his head. "Ow! Nat?"

Feeling around, he found metal boxes, a couple of canvas bags, a tire iron and something that felt suspiciously like a spare tire. That alone confirmed his theory: he was in the trunk of a car. Most likely the rental Natalia had been driving. Rubbing his eyes, he searched his memory and came up with the fight they had, laughing humorlessly. She didn't just best him in their skirmish. She'd wiped the floor with his ass. But that was a secondary concern to getting out of his confinement.

Patting his pockets, he found a cell phone and a small flashlight. He flicked on the flashlight and stuck it in his mouth while he turned on the phone. Obviously, the phone was a clue. It powered up, beeping to indicate a text was received.

_Come to 3__rd__ flr lab. Use fire exit west side of bldg. See u soon._

It was reassuring to know that she was somewhere close by, and it made Clint smile. Using the light, he located the emergency release for the trunk lid, and was about to give it a yank when he heard hushed voices. He recognized the woman's from the warehouse: Hill. It wasn't her presence that disturbed him as much as what she said to her team. "_No one gets out alive. Take out the others, but the Black Widow is mine._"

Her words were said with such vehemence and hatred that it made Clint's skin crawl. The group moved off, Clint waited a couple of minutes then risked opening the trunk. When nothing happened, he climbed out and stood there for a moment letting his eyes adjust while he worked out a plan to stop Hill before she killed Natalia. He quickly sent a text letting her know that Hill was out for blood, and though he waited for a response, none came meaning she may have turned the phone off, turned the ringer off or was ignoring him to concentrate on the intruders. In which case, she would need help.

"I need a weapon." The gun he'd been carrying was gone, and he didn't blame Natalia for taking it after what he'd tried to do. "Stupid! Stupid! Stupid! Killing yourself wouldn't have solved _anything_, Barton. But right now, you need some way to defend yourself and the others. There has to be something in here or Nat would've left you in the back seat instead of the trunk. Let's see what's in these boxes…nothing helpful…Hmm. What's this?"

Clint opened the last case, the contents startling a small gasp out of him. "Oh, wow."

He carefully took out the collapsed bow, his finger automatically finding a small button. When it was depressed, the bow unfolded itself with a snap. "Yeah, _that's_ what I'm talkin' about."

Also in the case was a quiver filled with two kinds of arrows. Some were the regular kind with the tips already attached. The rest were shafts and fletchings with specialized tips contained within the caddy at the bottom. After a quick examination he determined that a couple of the heads were explosive, and one that looked like a grappling hook. The purpose of the others escaped him.

"Okay, so you've never used one of these before. You can figure it out." Taking out an arrow, Clint nocked it and made a couple of practice pulls on the string. "Seems simple enough."

Delving into the case once more, he came up with finger and wrist guards. He set down the bow and put them on, remarking that they fit like they were made for him, and maybe they were. "Nat said that I'm him and he's me. That other Clint can do this so I should be able to. We'll find out."

Clint searched the trunk once more and came up with a handgun that looked sort of like the one Nat had given him before. He quickly familiarized himself with it just in case then shoved it into his back waistband, pulling the vest down to cover it. After closing the trunk, he kept low to the ground as he followed the path that Hill and her people had taken. He caught up with them as they separated into smaller groups, leaving two outside. The two men conferred then one of them made his way around the end of the building and out of sight.

Just briefly, Clint considered shooting the man using the gun, but that would alert them to his presence and position. Unslinging the bow, he nocked an arrow, bringing it up and into position, pulling the string back to his cheek. "He's me. I'm him. If _he_ can do it, so can I."

Taking a deep breath, Clint exhaled as he allowed the echoes from that other life invade his conscious mind. A voice he didn't recognize seemed to whisper in his ear, so close that he could almost feel the man standing behind him whispering words of encouragement.

_Instinctive shooting is the coordination between your eyes and your bow arm. Allow your experience and subconscious guide you. To be the best takes concentration and practice. Focus on nothing but the center of the target. You can do it, Clint._

"Piece of cake. Okay, buddy-boy. You're going _down. Inhale…exhale…and release._" The arrow leaped from the bow and imbedded itself into the back of the man crouched behind the bush just in front of him. He went down without a sound. "Boo-ya! Now for contestant number two."

Fading into the shadows, Clint circled the building until he found the other guy and took him out as well. With the way clear, he slipped through the fire exit door.

~~O~~

From his hiding place in a tree, the man known to Sheriff McCloud and Natalia as Michael Taggert watched as two highly trained mercenaries were taken out by a musician employing a weapon he'd never used before, which Taggert knew for a fact. "Way to go, buddy-boy. I'm comin'. Just don't get yourself killed."

Taggert dropped out of the tree, landing lightly on both feet. He snugged his knit cap low to cover his hair, allowing it and the three weeks growth of beard to hide his identity then he unslung his weapon and followed in Clint's footsteps. His goal tonight was two-fold: Catch the leader of a dangerous group of mercenaries with the help of another mercenary, and keep Clint safe. Yeah, he should've made sure Clint stayed locked in the trunk, but with Romanova upstairs, Taggert knew he wouldn't be able to convince Clint to wait on the sidelines. He was never one to sit back and let others take the lead or he wouldn't have become one of the most popular musicians in the world.

And then there was the whole being lied to thing they would have to get past, as long Clint didn't find out the entire story. Either way, there'd be hell to pay once the reason he'd been in Waverly and was here now came to light. Hopefully the good news would outweigh the bad and they could just go from there.

Inside the stairwell, he eased the door shut and began the climb to the third floor. When he reached the second floor landing, Taggert stopped to listen, hearing nothing. That could mean Clint had made it to the third floor and was working on a plan or he'd already gone in. He hadn't heard gunfire and from what he knew through personal observation, the mercenaries didn't use silencers. They wanted everyone to know they'd been there and why.

Continuing his ascent, Taggert sidled up to the door and peered through the crack where Clint had left it slightly ajar. _Good job, buddy boy_. Pulling it all the way shut could've revealed his presence. Taggert opened the door and slipped into the hall that led to the lab. At the corner where the building made a ninety degree turn, Clint appeared to be listening.

Taggert very quietly made his way down the hall. As he got close, Clint sensed him, unslung the bow and was reaching for an arrow when their eyes met. The musician's eyes narrowed first with a touch of fear that he'd been caught then in annoyance when he realized Taggert wasn't one of the bad guys. "What the…"

His voice was so low, Taggert could barely hear. To stop him from giving away their position, Taggert put a finger to his lips for quiet. With a questioning look and his right hand in a fist with the forefinger extended, Taggert silently asked if he had a gun. Clint nodded, still with that unblinking stare. "Who…"

This time Taggert slashed a hand through the air mouthing _Later._ Holding up three fingers, Taggert counted down to zero, and together, the men burst into the lab. Three men and a woman were holding Coulson and Selvig at gunpoint. They spun around bringing their weapons to bear, but not quickly enough. In moments, all four were on the floor in various states of consciousness. Clint had taken out one, Coulson another and Taggert the woman and the third man.

Clint gathered their weapons while Coulson and Taggert shoved them into a closet and slammed the door. From his backpack, Taggert took a device that he attached to the door above the knob. Using the keypad, he entered a code. There was a click and a thunk, and when he turned the knob again, the door was locked tight.

Taggert ignored Clint's intense stare as he moved around the room, the Remington 870 cradled in both arms as casually as most people would cradle a baby. A very deadly baby. To Coulson, Taggert said, "Where's the Black Widow?"

"Natalia? She's checking the perimeter. Should be back soo…"

Coulson's voice stuttered to a stop, all three going perfectly still when a red dot appeared in the middle of Clint's chest and a voice behind them said, "Freeze. Now drop your weapons."

Communicating with just his eyes, Taggert told Clint and Coulson to comply. Slowly, all three men laid their weapons on the floor. At a gesture, Clint kicked the bow, quiver, Coulson's weapon and Taggert's Remington 870 and M1911 pistol away. A man in a black turtleneck picked them up, stacking them on a table out of reach.

"Well, isn't this a pretty picture?" Hill remarked sarcastically, gesturing for them to move away from the closet while keeping her weapon trained on Clint. "Enjoy it while you can because you're all going to die."

~~O~~

Unable to sit still, Natalia circled the room, stopping to watch over Selvig's shoulder as streams of complex mathematical equations scrolled the screen faster than even she could read. Not that she understood any of it, just the occasional bit here and there, but how it all worked together to give Selvig the answers they needed, she couldn't tell.

"Agent Romanoff, it's difficult to concentrate with you breathing down my neck."

"I'm just curious as to how much longer it's going to take."

Tossing a pen on the table, Selvig turned to face her with his arms crossed and leaning against the edge. "It's not a video game. We're attempting to discover a way to travel through time. If you could just stay out of the way, I'm almost done."

That surprised her though she didn't let it show. "How accurate will it be?"

He faced the computers again moving from one to the other, stopping the flow of information, making a few changes then moving on to the next. "We got lucky. Most of the work was already done by other scientists. Dr. Bruce Banner, Dr. Anthony Stark, Dr. Rodney McKay and Dr. Radek Zelenka. Without their prior work in the field, it would've taken years to get to this point."

"I see. So how much longer did you say it would be?"

Selvig shrugged. "An hour. Maybe less. When The Hawk arrives, you can decide between you who goes and who stays."

"That's not an issue, Doctor. _I'm_ going. _He's_ staying and so is Coulson."

The scientist snorted. "Shouldn't you discuss it with them?"

"There's not going to be a discussion. I need you on my side, Doc."

He waved indifferently. "Fine. You have my support. Now if you don't mind, this next step requires concentration." He dropped into a chair effectively dismissing her.

Holding in a huff, Natalia slipped on her Widow's Bites as she moved toward Coulson who was dozing in a chair. She kicked the leg startling him awake. "Watch Selvig. I'm checking the perimeter."

Coulson was instantly awake, reaching for his gun and peering at her with those piercing blue eyes. "Something wrong? You look a little nervous."

"I don't _get_ nervous. Clint should've joined us by now." She handed Coulson additional ammo. "You have knives, right?"

His eyebrows crawled up his forehead. "Knives? Plural?"

"Yes. Standard practice. One for them to find, and one to keep. Everybody knows that."

Coulson snorted. "_I_ didn't know that."

"You just don't remember. But it'll come back to you."

He tossed a glance at Selvig, sidling closer to Natalia and lowering his voice. "How do you know so much about our other lives? Shouldn't _we_ remember too?"

Crossing her arms, Natalia worked through her thought processes on just that subject. "The actual event is hidden from me. Not sure why. I get the feeling that only Selvig and I were there when whatever it was happened."

"What about Clint and me? If we weren't there, why do we remember anything at all?"

She inhaled, held it and exhaled slowly, deciding how much to tell Coulson. He deserved to know everything just as Clint did, and when he joined them, she'd tell him everything. "I believe it's because Selvig and I were in close proximity when the event happened. You and Clint were affected because you're closer to me than anyone else in the world. You may have noticed that I don't let many people in, and those I do, don't get to know everything, even in the other timeline."

"I did notice that." With a little embarrassment, Coulson looked at the floor and smiled. "So just how close _were_ we?"

"Clint and I were often partnered for ops when we needed someone to watch our back. That's all there was to it though everyone thought there was more."

Coulson nodded as it took in everything she said. "I was talking about you and me. Did _we_ ever partner up?"

Natalia shook her head, the short hair swishing around her face. "A few times. You were our handler, but you did take a few missions. Why?"

"Because I have a feeling there was more to it than just two people working together. That maybe we cared about each other…"

"We _did_."

Tucking the weapon out of sight, Coulson took a step forward, his eyes searching her face. "You didn't let me finish. I think we cared about each other more than we were supposed to. I was your handler, but that wasn't all, was it?" He waited, but Natalia didn't say anything to contradict him. "I'm right, aren't I?" Again, he paused, and all she could do was stare back. With a self-satisfied smile, he moved away. "So, when we return to the original timeline, you and I will be what? Happily in love? Unhappily in love due to agency regs? Friends with benefits?"

"Phil…" Natalia broke off, cocking her head to the side, holding her hand up for silence. "Someone's here."

The bantering atmosphere vanished in an instant. "Clint?"

Shaking her head, Natalia adjusted the Widow's Bites. "No. Someone else. Several someone elses. Stay here and guard Selvig. I'm gonna check it out." And before Coulson could object, she was gone.

~~O~~

From her hiding spot hanging from the roof, Natalia watched the scene in the lab unfold. The man with Hill tried the closet door, shaking no to indicate that it couldn't be opened. At least she wouldn't have to worry about them waking up and getting in the way while she took out Hill and her companion. She powered up her Widow's Bites while planning her attack.

Bending her knees, she prepared to push off to go in through the window where she'd already attached four small devices the size of pencil erasers in a square. All that remained was for her to activate them, swing out, around and into the room. The Widow's Bites would take out Hill and the man she knew as Frederick, and they could get back to repairing the timeline.

Hill never took her eyes off of Clint as she thumbed off the safety and chambered a round. "Natalia, you have to the count of three to show yourself or he dies. One…two…"

Another voice entered the equation, and Hill too became absolutely still. Only the rise and fall of her chest showed movement. The fluorescent lights glinted off the biomechanical implant where her left eye used to be.

"Drop it or I'll kill you where you stand, Hill." Frederick's voice was ice cold, emotionless. Only his eyes showed what he was feeling as he placed the muzzle of his weapon against Hill's temple and pulled back the hammer.

Keeping her weapon trained on Clint, Hill turned her head slightly so she could look at Frederick. "What're you doing, Frederick? Put that away."

"If _he_ dies, _you_ die. Is that really what you want? Who will take care of your mother if you're dead?" Coming around in front and taking a step back effectively blocking her shot, he now aimed at the middle of her forehead. "And my name's not Frederick. It's Special Agent Daniel Garrett with Homeland Security.

"Maria Hill, you and your associates are under arrest for committing acts of domestic terrorism, receiving and selling stolen property, money laundering, possession of illegal substances with intent to distribute, importing and selling illegal weapons, dealing in counterfeit merchandise, and a whole slew of other crimes that we'll get to later."

Hill's finger tightened on the trigger. Faster than the eye could see, Garrett swung the hand holding his weapon, catching her on the side of the head and stunning her. Hill fell to the floor like a marionette whose strings had been cut. Garrett picked up her weapon and shoved it into the back of his pants then turned away as if she no longer mattered.

Of the others, only Taggert reclaimed his weapons. He glanced over his shoulder looking directly at her. "Please join us, Ms. Romanova."

Natalia hit the remote, blowing out the windows immediately to her left, but instead of shattering into pieces, the glass was vaporized. She pushed off and easily swung through the opening letting go at the apex of the swing to land in a crouch. Getting to her feet, she turned to greet Clint, a little disappointed that he was looking at Taggert and not her, but it didn't last long.

To Hill, Taggert pointed to himself and said, "Not Wyatt, and not dead. Special Agent Charles Barton, FBI. And that stuff Garrett said about being under arrest and all? That goes double for me."

A gasp came from Clint and the grinning Taggert reached up to pull off the knit cap, giving Natalia a nod before addressing Clint. "How you doin', buddy-boy?"

"Barney?" Clint didn't move or even seem to be breathing. He just stared at his brother suddenly come back from the dead.

Setting the Remington aside, Barney held both hands out to the side. "Don't just stand there. _Say_ something. Aren't you happy to see me, little brother?"

Finally, Clint moved, but if Barney was expecting a hug after letting Clint think he was dead these past few weeks, he was sadly mistaken. Clint's eyes gave Barney a onceover then he punched him in the face, shocking everyone but Natalia. Barney stumbled back against the table, obviously not expecting that reaction. Dabbing at his lip, he chuckled. "Not bad. You've learned a thing or two since we were kids. I guess being a rock star doesn't mean you can't fight."

"After Mom and Dad, _how_ could you let me think you were dead too?"

Barney looked from Garrett to Coulson to Natalia and back to Clint as if seeking their counsel. None of them said a word. "After seeing you at the warehouse, and knowing it would end badly for Fury's people, Garrett and I had to come up with a plan on the fly that would put the blame on a mole within the organization. So we gave them a scapegoat using another mole to do the job. Garrett had been in place longer so he was the obvious choice. He made me, and just as we hoped, Hill gave him the job of getting rid of me."

Hands on his hips, Clint took two steps away and turned to glare at Barney. "You could've _told_ me. I had to plan your funeral, people came to pay their respects, offer sympathy. It was the worst day of my _life!_"

"I really _am_ sorry, but no one aside from my immediate superior and my partner could know I was still alive just in case we had a mole too. Your grief _had_ to look real or the entire operation, twenty-two months of investigations and undercover work by two different government agencies would've been jeopardized. All that time and taxpayer money wasted." Clint looked away, his forehead pinched as he worked out his emotions. Natalia knew he loved his brother, but he was also very angry with him. Which emotion would win out, she had a hunch, but didn't say anything. Eventually, he would have to know that she had known his brother was alive, but that was for a later time. Barney took a step closer to Clint, reaching out to touch him on the arm. Clint wavered for a moment then gave in and drew Barney in for a hug.

Across the room where he'd been ignoring everyone else, Selvig called out, "It's almost time, Agent Romanoff."

From the corner of her eye, Natalia saw movement in the woman on the floor a millisecond before Hill stood, easily disarming Garrett, knocking him into Coulson, and both men falling to the floor. She turned the weapon on Natalia, shouting, "I should've _killed_ you while you slept. See you in _hell!_"

~~O~~

Lying on the floor where she'd fallen when Daniel clocked her on the back of the head, Hill pretended to be semi-conscious, holding onto her anger with difficulty and awaiting the right moment to strike. Wyatt, a man she'd ordered killed, wasn't dead. Not only that, but he was really Charles Barton, FBI agent, and the brother of Natalia's lover. And one of the few people that she trusted, a man she now knew as Daniel Garrett, was with Homeland Security. When she thought back to the day she'd been told that Wyatt was an undercover cop, she recalled that Garrett had been the one who "made" him. He'd also been the one to carry out the execution. The two of them had planned it in advance so that Barton would be able to report to his superiors without the risk of a real execution.

The idea so angered Hill that it was interfering with her implant. The display blinked and twisted until she could no longer see out of it. Shapes moved here and there like ghost images on film. And if that weren't enough, her head began to ache over her left eye. She'd been warned by the doctor who had installed the hardware that there was the possibility of rejection and to call him immediately if she developed certain symptoms such as headaches in or near the implant.

Hill's world was falling apart and she blamed Natalia. Information she'd stolen from her former ally had been the impetus for the mission that had resulted in the loss of her eye. She hadn't taken her revenge because Natalia and her contacts were useful for helping Hill become Fury's go-to person which led to her now being their leader.

It was _Natalia's_ fault that she had to sell the house on the Big Island and move her mother out of the country. And it was _Natalia's _fault that the man she loved had been killed in a firefight with a Mexican cartel just over the border into Mexico. For all the pain and loss Hill had endured, Natalia should have to suffer the same fate.

Cracking her eyelids, Hill was able to see all the players in this little drama. Where everyone was standing and who was paying attention to what, startled when the scientist said, "It's almost time, Agent Romanoff."

It was now or never. If she was going down she'd take Natalia and as many others with her as possible.

Hill surged to her feet. Using her training in the military, she disarmed Garrett and pushed him out of the way. He stumbled into Coulson and they went down together. She turned and aimed at Natalia in one flowing movement, "I should've _killed_ you while you slept. See you in _hell!_"

Sighting along the barrel of the gun, Hill aimed between Natalia's eyes.

**TBC**


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N:** This is another AU of the Avengers, post movie. Many thanks to ladygris for doing the Beta services again.

**Warning:** This chapter includes references to drug addiction, and a character's death. It may also contain spoilers for _Captain America, The Winter Soldier, Marvel's Agents of SHIELD and Avengers 2, The Age of Ultron_. You've been warned.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the Avengers, Marvel, Facebook, Twitter or YouTube. If I've left anything out, aside from the OC characters, I don't own them/it either. Someone else does.

Namaste,

Sandy

How cruelly sweet are the echoes that start,

When memory plays an old tune on the heart.

~Eliza Cook

**Avengers**

**Echoes**

**Chapter 18**

Hill moved so quickly that only a highly-trained operative would have seen her technique. Within moments, Garrett and Coulson had been neutralized, the gun thrown into the air to land in Hill's waiting palm. Natalia couldn't help but be thankful that Hill chose to take her anger out on the one person prepared to defend herself. Garrett and Barton had training, that was true, but she doubted theirs had been as intense as what Natalia had gone through before the age of sixteen.

Keeping her aim rock steady, Hill flicked her eyes to the side and back. "Weapons over here. Now! Or she's dead."

Garrett and Coulson wisely stayed seated on the floor as Agent Barton—Natalia still thought of him as Michael Taggert—tossed his handgun out of reach at the same time she did. Clint and his brother were standing side by side, hands in the air. Hill gestured and Natalia moved to Clint's right, lowering her hands to shoulder height. When Coulson had gone down the hall earlier, she had the foresight to hide several weapons around the room. One of which was attached to the underside of the table to her right. All she needed was a moment's distraction, a slight altering of Hill's aim and it would be enough.

This standoff couldn't last long. Eventually, someone would do or say something to set Hill off and they'd all end up dead. The only positive in that is they'd no longer be plagued by the echoes from that other life. No one wanted to die. Not tonight or even tomorrow. Still, it was looking as if that would be outcome.

Clint bumped into her, and with her eyes never leaving Natalia, Hill couldn't have seen the silent communication between the brothers. Or maybe she did. Keeping the gun trained on Natalia, Hill shot a glance at them. No. Not both of them. Just Clint. "Why couldn't you just leave well enough alone, Natalia? We could've had it _all_. Money, power, anything we wanted. But you had to get mixed up with _him_, and now it's all gone. Everything!"

Natalia took a half-step to the right, putting space between her and Clint and trying to draw attention from him and from Selvig. The scientist had gone still, afraid to move or Hill might turn her wrath on him as well. And right now, Hill sounded just a little insane.

"We can still have all of that, Maria. Let's move the operation to a country with no extradition treaty with the U.S. You've always liked Morocco."

For a moment, it looked like Hill was going to go for it. Then Clint shifted his feet, drawing her attention again. "I like the sound of that. However, _you_ won't live long enough to enjoy it."

The barrel of Hill's weapon had moved by just a few inches. Far enough that, if she fired now, Natalia's reflexes would ensure she wasn't injured. She couldn't say the same for the others. There had to find a way to stop Hill without anyone else getting hurt.

~~O~~

Clint kept his features neutral so that Hill wouldn't know what he was up to. Moving his left arm slightly, he touched Barney. Making the motion seem natural, he made a gun shape with his hand and tilted his head back. Barney moved his head just far enough to be able to see the handgun Clint still had stuck in the back of his pants.

While Hill's attention was focused on Natalia again, Barney put up three fingers then pointed down, his meaning was clear. On the count of three, Barney would take the weapon from the back of Clint's pants, and Clint was to drop to the floor taking Natalia with him.

And as usually happens in these situations, the next few seconds seemed to move in slow motion though Clint knew it was just his altered perception of the events.

Hill brought her left hand up to steady the right as she thumbed back the hammer and squeezed the trigger.

As soon as Clint felt Barney take the gun from his waistband, he dived at Natalia, bearing them both to the ground as shots were fired, the sound so loud in the confines of the lab that Clint thought for a moment that he'd gone deaf. But it was just the pounding of his heart.

Clint lay on top of Natalia, shielding her with his body. There was one last shot fired and Hill slumped to the floor in front of him, her eyes open yet seeing nothing as she took her last breath while a pool of blood spread around her and dripped from the hole in her forehead.

There was a sharp pain in his side where Clint had reinjured the same rib he'd bruised in the accident. He put a hand to the area, groaning in pain. The area felt wet and sticky. His hand came away with blood on it.

Natalia helped him lay back talking to him though he couldn't hear her words at first. Barney fell to his knees as he quickly removed his vest and shirt, pressing the latter to Clint's side causing even more pain. "Oh, God!"

If it was just a sore rib, then why was he bleeding? Suddenly sleepy, Clint closed his eyes, opening them again when someone slapped his cheeks. "Hey, hey, buddy-boy," Barney said, his words sounding far away. "Don't go to sleep on me here. Try to stay awake, Clint. Talk to me. Tell me about the new CD. When's it coming out? You'll send me a copy, right? I wanna brag to my co-workers about my little brother, the hottest rock star in the world."

All Clint wanted to do was sleep, but Barney kept slapping him, forcing him to stay awake. "Um, Chris-Christmas. It's-it's…we're almost done. Just-just finished writing the last song. Nat helped. It's called…called…"

"Clint, look at me. Clint!"

He did as he was told and opened his eyes again. Her beautiful face seemed to fade in and out. Other voices whispered in the background, but Clint couldn't understand what they were saying. Reaching out a trembling hand, he took hold of hers, not even noticing the blood. He was so happy to see her, he smiled, and she returned it. "Hey. Need t' say somethin'."

"Sh! Save it for later."

"No. Need to say it now." Suddenly, it was all too much for Clint. He closed his eyes, smiling when he felt Natalia take his head in her lap. She brushed her fingers through his hair and leaned down to whisper in his ear. Her words filled him with an emotion he hadn't felt in a long time: joy. Summoning the last bit of energy remaining, he said, "_Ya tebya lyublyu slishkom,_ Natalia_._"

~~O~~

Natalia's pants were soaked with a combination of Clint's and Hill's blood, but she didn't care. She brushed a kiss over Clint's still lips and carefully placed his head on the floor. On her feet again, she looked from Clint's still form to Barney, but when he made to take her in his arms, she snatched the gun from his hand, turned and emptied the clip into Hill, her dead body twitching and jerking with each impact.

When the hammer clicked on the empty chamber, Natalia calmly set the weapon on the table, brushed the hair from her face, smearing blood on her cheeks and forehead. She took a deep breath, drawing herself up to her full height.

Once Hill had been neutralized, Selvig had gone back to work, occasionally shooting a worried glance in their direction. Natalia came up beside him, and in a voice even she could tell was way too controlled, said, "How's it coming, Doctor?"

"It's nearly ready. I need someone to go down to the electrical room and install this for me." He nodded at what to her looked like several circuit boards welded together with a jumble of wires hanging off of it. "It will allow the device to draw all the power from the grid it requires without tripping the circuit breakers thereby shutting it down at a critical moment."

"I got this." Natalia hadn't heard Barney come up beside her. The FBI agent's face was a taut mask that gave nothing away of what he was feeling about the death of his brother not two minutes ago. He set the device into a small case, added the tools he needed and hurried from the room, pausing just for a moment as he came to Clint's body then relentlessly pushed past Garrett and Coulson when they got in his way.

A few minutes later, an indicator on Selvig's computer showed a massive increase in the amount of power it was pulling. The scientist nodded. "Perfect."

"I'm ready to go." Natalia's voice was flat and lifeless, but she couldn't allow her emotions to get the best of her or they might as well give up now.

Selvig looked her over and went back to work. "You should change first. There's a locker room on the first floor where you can get a shower."

"I'm good."

"You're also covered in blood. There's still time. Go." The last was said as gently as she'd ever heard him speak. All this time, she thought he didn't care about anything but the science and any industry accolades he would garner for the research, especially if he could adapt it for a use that would be beneficial to mankind. No matter what the original purpose, there were always people who'd pervert them just to make money or to give them the power over others that they crave the way some people crave chocolate. Somehow, she had to stop that from happening as well.

As she turned, Garrett and Coulson folded Clint's hands over his chest, picked his body up from the middle of the floor and carried him over by the window then Coulson used a lab coat to cover him.

The mercenaries in the closet had finally woken up and were making a big stink. Garrett pounded on the door with his fist. "Shut the hell up or you'll end up like Hill."

They'd obviously heard what had transpired and made the decision to behave because they quieted down. The soft murmur of voices was all Garrett and Coulson could hear.

Natalia made the trip to the car in record time then did as Selvig suggested and had a shower. It took three washings to get the blood out of her hair, but at least it was clean. While at the car, she'd opened a secret compartment and took out a hunter's rifle. From what Barney had told her, the accident from the blown tire was caused by hunters going after game too close to the road. One of them had missed a deer and hit their tire instead. The sheriff had told them that if they'd been hit another hundred yards farther up the road, they'd've gone down the embankment and been killed. As it was, they'd only been scared. A tow truck came along a few minutes later and the driver helped them swap out the flat tire for the spare.

She gathered her bloody clothes, pulled the trash bag from the can and shoved them inside. In the process, Clint's phone fell out of one of her pockets, the impact with the carpet powering it up. She dragged her finger across the screen to unlock it, stopping when she saw that Clint had started an email. The recipient's name was Julia Banerjee, a name Natalia recognized as Clint's attorney. Her finger hovered over the send key. Curious, she wondered why Clint had stopped in the middle of something so important to create an email to his attorney. In and of itself, the email wasn't a big deal, even if the situation was dire. It was the content that disturbed her.

_Herein let it be known that __Clinton Francis Barton__, a resident of Mira Mesa, San Diego county, in the state of California, being of sound mind, no matter what the doctors say, do declare that this document is to be used as my Last Will and Testament thereby superseding any previous Wills and Codicils._

_Following the deaths of my parents, Harold Joseph Barton and Edith Simmons Barton, and my brother, Charles Bernard Barton, I hereby bequeath my entire estate in equal portions to my employees, including, but not limited to __Michaela Balleseros Delgado, Ramon Ortega, the members of Fallen Angels, Jared Fox, Julia Banerjee, and Phillip Joseph Coulson…_

Had Clint known or suspected he would die today and started to rewrite his will in anticipation? In the normal course of a day, it would've been bizarre for someone to stop for something of that nature, but these were hardly normal days. Nothing had been normal for any of them in many years.

There was a portion of the other timeline that she couldn't see. Whatever it was, she had to fix it or all their worlds were in danger. She _would_ fix it, they _would_ save the world and then it would all go to hell again. So why were they doing this if it was all for nothing? Saving the world from an alien invasion only pave the way for a group of powerful enemies to take over the world. Or at least attempt it.

Taking a few deep breaths, Natalia closed her eyes and let the vision come to her. A gasp forced its way out when she saw the outcome of the attack from something called Insight. Whatever Insight was, but she knew it wasn't a good thing. If the timeline wasn't repaired, the mission to save the world from aliens would fail because she, Clint and the others weren't there. For them to be in a position to save anyone, she had to _stop_ being Natalia Romanova. She had to be Natasha Romanoff.

Natalia hit the send key and when the transmission was complete, she turned off the phone, dropped it to the floor and brought her heel down on it over and over until it was nothing but bits of plastic and silicon. Digging out the SIM card, she used one of her Widow's Bites to fry it, leaving the mess for someone else to clean up because she had more important issues to deal with. Stomping on the phone wasn't necessary-the Widow's Bite could've destroyed all the circuits, but it made her feel better.

Taking the bag of bloody clothes and the rifle, she returned to the third floor. The men were talking to Selvig. Probably pestering him for an explanation on how the device worked that would be filled with words and concepts they couldn't comprehend. She didn't completely understand, and doubted they would either. They stopped talking when she came in leading her to believe they'd been talking about her. That wasn't a serious concern right now. Never really was because she didn't care if people talked behind her back as long as she knew the truth.

"Ah, there you are. The device will be ready for testing shortly."

"Testing? I thought you knew what you were doing."

Selvig huffed loudly, and it wasn't a pleasant sound. "I _do_, but it would irresponsible of me as a scientist if I allowed it to be used without first testing it. If everything isn't _exactly_ as it should be, you could be killed outright, vaporized, or nothing could happen. If, by some chance it does work, you could materialize inside a wall or other solid object. You could even arrive in the past with your organs on the outside of your body."

"We don't have time for testing, Doctor. Just tell me where to stand." The men exchanged looks, and Natalia ignored them.

"There." Selvig pointed to a spot ten feet in front of something that looked like a giant laser pointer.

Natalia went to stand where Selvig indicated, the rifle slung over one shoulder watching him work. She felt someone come up beside her, not surprised that it was Barton. She glanced at Clint's still form, Barton's eyes following. Barton crossed his arms and shifted his feet. "Selvig explained everything to us, me and Garrett. Not sure I believe all this Time Tunnel crap, but if it does work, my brother will be alive, not…" When their eyes met, he smiled sadly. "Clint and I haven't seen much of each other these past few years. It's hard to maintain relationships when you're always undercover. Strange as it may seem, I still know my brother. He doesn't fall in love easily, but there's something about you…I really do think he loves you, and I know you love him."

Her stomach clenched as did the muscles of her shoulders. She looked at Barton and away. "_Ty govoriš' po-russki?_"

Barton shrugged modestly. "_Odnovo jazyka nikogda nedostatočno._ So yes, I did hear you tell him…"

"What you _heard,_ Agent Barton, was me telling a dying man what he wanted to hear. He _wanted_ me to love him. It's not his fault that I'm incapable of returning his affections." The FBI agent gave her a long contemplative look that told her nothing of what he was thinking or feeling. "What?"

Again, he shrugged. "I was just comparing words to actions. If you don't love Clint, even a little, then why are you doing this? Why not just leave everything as it is? He's dead. You _claim_ to be dead inside, yet you're doing everything you can to see to it that he lives a long and full life. Why?"

"Because there's more at stake than just the life of a single drug addicted rock star. I'm talking about the fate of the _world_. For some reason, Clint is the focal point for the time divergence. I have to go back to the day this picture was taken." Delving into her pocket, she came out with a bent and creased photograph of the Barton family. She shoved it into his hands.

"I remember this. We drove all the way to Waterloo to have it taken. Clint was so excited he couldn't sit still, and Dad kept yelling at him." A nostalgic smile turned up the corners of his mouth reminding Natalia of Clint. They had the same smile inherited from their mother. "When Dad went to get a new tire, he found out a hunter was responsible. They're not supposed to hunt so close to the roads."

Barton handed the photo back and Natalia just shook her head. With a nod of thanks, he stuck it in one of his pockets and they stood there in awkward silence. She wanted to tell him that things would not go as well for him in the other timeline, but didn't. Instead, she returned his nod.

"Agent Romanoff, it's time."

Barton stepped back out of the way though he didn't go far. It was almost as if he wanted to be close by in case she needed protecting. But how could he protect her when she couldn't even protect herself? "Ready when you are, Doctor. How will I know if everything's been put back the way it's supposed to be?"

"There's no way to know. You may be stranded in that timeline. In which case, you must make absolutely certain that you don't use your knowledge of the future to try to change historical events. I would suggest living a reclusive life in the mountains.

"Or, and this is the most likely scenario, you could disappear as this timeline would never have been brought into existence in the first place."

Clearing his throat, Garrett drew Selvig's attention. "Yeah, about that. If she changes the past so that this timeline never exists, then how could she, and we, be here now to go back in time and change things so that this timeline doesn't exist?"

To the surprise of them all, Selvig laughed. "_Now_ you see why it's a bad thing to mess with the space-time continuum."

Coulson joined them. "Then _why_ are we doing this? Why don't we just call the cops and blame everything on that Hill woman? That way, we're in the clear and we can just get on with our lives."

Selvig started to explain, but Natalia overrode him. She'd wanted to avoid telling them that the world they loved so much would be destroyed, but now she had to. "Because, if we don't, in this timeline, Earth will be destroyed in an alien invasion brought on by a demi-god named Loki who is in league with an alien race called the Chitauri. They will come to Earth and kill nearly two billion people. The rest will be enslaved. Some will be shipped to other planets as forced labor while those that remain will be put to work on Earth. The Chitauri will deplete Earth's resources then abandon her leaving behind a devastated world that can only marginally support human life. And it's not coming in a hundred years or even fifty. It's coming in the next few months. They're already on their way and we have no way of fighting them. Earth's resources are hopelessly unprepared for such an event." She tugged on the sides of the hunting vest she wore in place of the more modern Kevlar. "Let's _do_ this, Doctor."

Selvig tapped a sequence into the computer then turned to the giant laser pointer, his hand hovering over an LED display. "On my mark. Three…two…one…mark."

His finger tapped the display sending out a beam of green light that enveloped Natalia making her skin crawl. She closed her eyes against the brightness and the sensation of thousands of insects swarming over her skin became almost unbearable. It turned to pain and a scream tried to push from her throat when an ear piercing sound joined the band. She refused to let it out as more than a groan through gritted teeth as the sound became a living thing that wrapped around her like a wooly blanket. It slowly contracted until the pressure became too much for her fragile human body.

~~O~~

As the light surrounding Natalia grew and expanded, Barney, Garrett and Coulson backed up, squeezing their eyes shut and covering their ears. The light expanded then suddenly shrank in on itself, winking out with a whoosh. Barney took a chance and opened his eyes to see an empty space where Natalia had stood. Garrett and Coulson followed suit, the three of them irresistibly drawn to the black circle burned into the tile. They shared a look, Barney summoning up their collective thoughts in one word, "Sonofa*****! It's true. All of it. Everything she said was true."

Garrett felt compelled to add, "Unless she hiding somewhere waiting to spring the punchline of an elaborate practical joke."

They stood staring at the ring for a long time. When nothing more happened aside from Selvig returning to his computer, the men breathed a sigh of relief and chuckled, moving off in different directions. Barney went to his brother's side and lifted the lab coat from his face, watching for signs that he was a part of the joke. No one could hold their breath or lay there this long without moving. He pressed two fingers to the underside of Clint's jaw and felt nothing. His skin had lost all color aside from the smears of blood and felt cool to the touch. It would take a while for rigor to set in, three to four hours, and Barney didn't want to be here that long.

He walked over to Selvig and waited to be noticed. When the scientist ignored him, Barney said, "I see you're busy, but I have a few questions."

Huffing, Selvig dropped into a chair and crossed his arms. "It's obvious that I won't be able to concentrate until you're satisfied that I've told you all I can, so please. Go ahead."

"How long will this take?"

"By how long, you mean for Agent Romanoff to complete her mission? There's no way to tell. If my calculations were off, she could've arrived anywhere from a few minutes to a few days or even weeks before the event. Due to our proximity to the device, we may all retain the knowledge of this timeline until it disappears. Then it will never have happened so we won't remember it. When something in the past is changed, we should begin to see signs. People we used to see all the time will suddenly be gone. Buildings where none were before. Someone else may be president instead of Aldus Haywell. Those are just examples.

"On the other hand, when the timeline is altered, the changes may occur in stages and we may be fully cognizant of both timelines for the rest of our days. The four of us could spend our lives chuckling at what we will tell others are inside jokes. However, it is more likely…"

Barton and Selvig turned at a shout from Garrett.

"Hey, hey, over here, guys! Look!" The DHS agent pointed to where a single body lay covered with a lab coat. "I was looking right at the bodies when Barton's, the other Barton, disappeared. He just vanished like he'd had never been there."

Coulson scanned the floor, waving the others over. Garrett and Barney joined him, the three men staring at a lone blood pool on the floor. "His blood's gone too. Does that mean he's alive? Did she change something so that he never comes here with us? What do you think, Agent Barton?"

There was no response, and Coulson and Garrett turned around, searching, only seeing Selvig at his computer. They looked at each other and shrugged when Hill's blood seemed to be absorbed into the floor. One glance was all it took to verify that Hill's body was gone as well.

Garrett rubbed a hand down his face, stopping to drag his nails through his beard making a scratching sound. "This is _really_ freaking me out. What about you, Coulson? Coulson?"

From his work area, Selvig's eyes met Garrett's. "Guess it's just you and me, Agent Garrett."

Wishing he had a good stiff drink, Garrett turned in a circle seeing no evidence that Barton, his brother, Clint, Coulson, Hill or Natalia had ever been there. He went to the closet and turned the knob. It opened easily and was no longer filled with black-clad mercenaries. He turned to speak to Selvig just as a weird pop sounded and the scientist vanished along with all his equipment. "And then there was one. Why am I always the last to…"

The door to the lab opened and a uniformed security guard came in. His scanned the empty room, flicked out the light, closed the door and continued on his rounds, mumbling about absentminded scientists always leaving the lights on.

**TBC**

**A/N: **Yes, I know this is a sad chapter, but please stick with it. I promise there will be a happy ending.

~Sandy


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N:** This is another AU of the Avengers, post movie. Many thanks to ladygris for doing the Beta services again.

**Warning:** This chapter may contain spoilers for _Captain America, The Winter Soldier, Marvel's Agents of SHIELD and Avengers 2, The Age of Ultron_. You've been warned.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the Avengers, Marvel, Facebook, Twitter or YouTube. If I've left anything out, aside from the OC characters, I don't own them/it either. Someone else does.

Namaste,

Sandy

How cruelly sweet are the echoes that start,

When memory plays an old tune on the heart.

~Eliza Cook

**Avengers**

**Echoes**

**Chapter 19**

The light, noise and pressure soared to the point where Natalia thought she would pass out then abruptly stopped. Dizziness made her stumble on the uneven ground. She caught herself by grabbing the trunk of the nearest tree. Pressing her back to the tree she slid down to sit with her knees crossed. Laying the rifle aside, she shrugged out of the backpack, opened it and pulled out a bottle of electrolyte drink. It tasted horrible, but would replace any minerals she lost during the transition from the future to the past, _if_ that's where she was. She didn't know if the fluid would help, but it couldn't hurt.

Superficially, this area looked right for the forest outside of Waverly, Iowa. Now all she had to do was determine if the date was correct. Arriving on time was good. Early was better. Too early was okay, but not preferable. She'd also expected to arrive at approximately the same time she left, but here it was still day, maybe a little after one in the afternoon.

The crunch of footsteps in the underbrush alerted her to the presence of hunters. Two. One a little older than the other and a lot heavier. Possibly a father and son. They were stalking a deer grazing a hundred yards to her right and were making too much noise. The deer would hear and run.

Getting to her feet, she waited for them to draw even with the tree then stepped out of hiding. With a big smile, she said, "Afternoon, boys. If you're after that deer, it's mine."

The older man, somewhere in his late forties, gave her an indulgent smile as he boldly looked her over. "Why don't you go on home and make dinner for your husband, little lady?"

Instead of being insulted, Natalia laughed. "Don't _need_ a man to take care of me, but thanks for bein' so condescendin'. Been huntin' since I was big enough to hold a rifle."

The man burst out laughing. "She's a feisty one, Junior, _and_ she's single. I think we found you a girl."

"Da-ad. I _got_ a girl. Mary Ellen 'n I are gettin' married in the fall."

Senior waved him silent. "Me 'n Junior been followin' that deer for almost five miles, and we plan on makin' dinner of it all next week, so why don't you just step outta the way and let me take the shot before it gets away?"

One eyebrow climbed up Natalia's forehead at Senior's tone as it slid from patronizing over into arrogant. "Here's the deal, boys. I'll take the first shot. If I bring down the deer, you get the kill _and_ the braggin' rights."

"In exchange for what?"

Keeping her eyes on Senior's and not blinking to disconcert him, she said, "I have a few questions. Answer them and we're done."

Not wanting to be left out of the strange negotiations, Junior stuck a thumb in his belt and asked his own question, "And if you miss?"

"I _never_ miss." Natalia snorted as she led the men through the forest to a good vantage point behind a dead tree lying across the trail. She raised the rifle to her left shoulder and sighted on the deer waiting for the perfect shot: two-and-a-half to three-quarters of an inch above where the eyes were closest together. It was more humane for the animal and allowed for the best meat retention.

A heavy hand came down on her right shoulder. "That's almost a hundred yards. You'll never make it so why don't you just leave the shootin' to those who know how?"

Her voice a deadly growl, Natalia said, "Touch me again and the first shot will be in your ass."

Senior obviously thought she was serious because he snatched his hand back. He and Junior knelt down behind the tree both bringing their rifles up so they could watch the action through their scopes. Natalia took a deep calming breath, squeezing the trigger at the end of the exhale. Her companions gasped when the deer's head jerked and it dropped to the ground. Seconds later, it was dead.

Lowering the rifle, Natalia rested it against the tree and turned to look at Senior and Junior. Senior's mouth hung open while Junior just stared. In a hushed voice, the older man said, "I, uh, believe you had some questions."

"I do. First question: What's the date?"

Giving her a confused stare, Senior repeated, "Date? Uh, yeah. June 12th. School just let out for the summer."

"Time."

Senior's frown deepened, and Junior answered, "Almost two."

Natalia held in a sigh of relief that she'd arrived on the right date and within an hour of the correct time of day. That meant she wouldn't have to try to blend in until she could complete her mission immediately. "Where are we?"

"Waverly, Iowa."

"More_ specific_."

"Uh," Senior cast a quick glance around the area. "Quarter mile below the highway at Dawson's Curve. Anything else, ma'am?"

"Yes. If you or your son tells anyone you've seen or spoke to me, I'll do to _you_ what I just did to that deer." Before she could stop them, the hunters were running toward the felled deer. Natalia turned from the scene and began her climb up to the road. She walked along the verge getting the lay of the land. From what Barney had told her during their t_ête-à-tête_ in the abandoned house across from their parent's home, the accident happened when their tire was shot out on the straightaway before they hit the curve. This allowed Harold to keep control of the vehicle.

If Natalia were to shoot out the tire as they reached the curve, they'd careen off the road throwing Harold and Edith against the windshield. The boys would be scared though not badly hurt.

Locating a suitable tree, Natalia climbed up and waited. Her interrogation of Barney had been so subtle that the FBI agent, himself experienced in the subtleties of the interview process, hadn't realized what she'd been doing. Or he did and felt he could trust her with details of the family's life. Either way, she had the information she needed to get the job done.

The roar of an eighteen wheeler came toward her, the name of the side, Rutgers Cattle Farm and Meat Processing, told her that the Barton family would be coming along any moment now. She brought the rifle into position, and within moments, the dark blue 1977 Chevy Caprice came into view. In the front seat, she could see Harold and Edith arguing.

The barrel of Natalia's rifle tracked the front passenger tire as the vehicle neared the curve, and just for a moment, she considered not taking the shot. Then, her resolve solidified. She wasn't doing this just for herself, but for over a billion innocent people who would die if she didn't. The needs of the many outweighed the needs of the few and all that. She inhaled, exhaled, inhaled again, whispered, "Please forgive me" and squeezed the trigger.

The tire exploded, and Harold, distracted by the argument with his wife, couldn't control the vehicle. It swerved to the right, passing between two trees and veering around others. It continued down the embankment until their luck ran out. The car hit a rock and flipped on its side throwing Edith against the windshield and then on top of Harold. They then struck a tree, propelling the steering wheel into Harold's chest, crushing it. He died in less than a minute. Edith lasted a little longer, but not much. A large shard of glass from the broken side window had stuck in her throat, and when she fell on top of Harold, it was driven in deeper severing her carotid artery and she bled out.

Scrambling from down from the tree, Natalia ran to the car, cupping her hand around the glass to block the sun's glare. Both boys were unhurt and were semi-conscious. Smoke billowed from under the hood, orange flames licking at the undercarriage. She had to get them out or her trip into the past would be a gigantic waste of time.

Searching the ground, she found a rock the size of her fist. She turned her head and smashed the window, using the rock to knock away as much of the broken glass as she could. Holding Barney under the arm, she used her knife to cut his seatbelt then dragged him through the window and set him on the ground at her feet. He moaned at the change in position then started coughing when the wind blew smoke into his face.

Clint was too far for her to reach easily. Clambering up onto the side of the car, Natalia let herself down into the back seat where she perform the same surgery on Clint's seatbelt and returned the knife to her back pocket. At the age of six, Clint was smaller and lighter. She maneuvered him up and over her shoulder so she would have both hands free for climbing.

The smoke was worse now telling her that an explosion was imminent. Setting Clint down on the door of the car, she levered herself out and jumped to the ground. By this time, Barney was sitting up and looking around.

"Mom? Dad? Clint?"

Wracking coughs shook his ten year-old body as Natalia again slung Clint over her shoulder and grabbed Barney's hand. "Come, _Lyubimaya_. We have to go."

Still stunned from the accident, Barney complied while still calling out for his parents. "Mom! Dad!"

The roar of the fire grew signaling an imminent explosion. Natalia threw the three of them to the ground behind a clump of thick bushes, covering the boys with her body. She ducked her head as debris rained over the area. When the ringing in her ears stopped, she could hear Junior and Senior calling out the boys' names. It wouldn't be long until they found them and she couldn't be here when they did. There was one more thing she had to do before she left.

Barney was on his stomach with his head raised coughing. Kneeling in front of him, she held his face between her palms forcing him to look at her. "Barney? Barney, look at me! Can you hear me?" The boy nodded with tears streaming down his face from the smoke. "I need you to remember something for me. Can you do that? It's _very_ important."

Barney rubbed his eyes smearing the dirt and blood on his face. "Where's my mom 'n dad?"

"_LyubImaya,_ I _really_ need you to listen to me. After university, you will go to work for the FBI. On your first field assignment, you'll be sent undercover working for a man named Cain Marko in order to bring down his operation. Do _not_ take that assignment. Do you understand me, Barney? _Don't_ take that assignment."

The boy looked down at his brother lying close by. "But what about Mom and Dad?"

"Repeat what I said, Barney." Sirens announced the arrival of the first responders leaving her no time to coddle him. Natalia shook him hard. "Promise me!"

"I won't work for Cain Marko. Promise." His interest had finally been captured. "He a bad guy?"

Voices and footsteps came toward them. It was time to go. "You and your brother take care of each other, _LyubImaya._"

Backing up, Natalia turned and ran, losing herself in the forest by the time the hunters found the boys. From her hiding place she heard Barney telling them about being rescued by a woman with red hair. No doubt the police would soon be combing the area looking for her.

Setting a course away from Dawson's Curve, Natalia kept walking, and a short time later, if anyone had been watching, they would've seen something that had to have been a trick of the light, because how could someone just disappear into thin air?

~~O~~

Senior didn't need to check to know that Edith and Harold Barton were dead. The explosion said it all. He and his son searched for and located the Barton boys hiding behind a bush. The older one, Barney was crying and holding onto his brother. Squatting next to them, he touched Barney on the shoulder. "You okay, buddy? You hurt?"

Barney shook his head. "I'm scared."

Despite Barney's claim that he wasn't hurt, Senior ran his hands over both boys checking for broken bones. He wasn't a doctor or even a paramedic, but when you spent so much time in the woods, you had to know more than a little first aid in case someone got hurt. Knowing what injuries could wait until the trip was over and which needed immediate medical treatment sometimes meant the difference between life and death. Having assured himself that the boys were okay, Senior stood. "I know, son. Let's get you and your brother outta here."

The boy sniffled and rubbed tears from his eyes. "Okay."

Senior handed Clint to Junior then picked up Barney, and together, the men carefully made their way up the slope to the road. Firemen and a paramedic ran forward to take the boys, but they refused to let go. "It's okay. I'll stay with you." To the paramedic, he said, "I'll ride with them to the hospital. Junior, take the truck and go tell your mother what's happened. She'll know if the Barton's have any family. Until this is all sorted out, they can stay with us."

With a nod, Junior ran in the direction of where their vehicle was parked, disappearing from sight as he entered the forest.

While the boys were being treated for smoke inhalation, cuts and scrapes, the sheriff came over to get Senior's statement. "Me and Junior were gettin' our kill ready to transport when we heard the crash. Got here too late though. It was already on fire."

Sheriff Alejandro "Alex" Barrios was the first Hispanic sheriff in their county, and Senior thought he'd done a good job of keeping the peace these last twelve years. He scribbled on his pad. "Did you see or hear anything just before or after?"

Senior rubbed his forehead then down his face, but in the end, decided not to mention the woman. "There was a shot. I assume it was from another hunter, but I can't be sure."

"You didn't see anyone else? Zeke Kinder said he might be out today and this is his area."

Head down so Barrios wouldn't see the lie, Senior said, "Didn't see him or anyone else, Alex. And Zeke usually makes his feelings known when he thinks someone's poachin' in his woods."

"Thanks, Senior. I'll give you a call if I have any more questions."

Nodding, Senior returned to the ambulance and climbed inside. The paramedic got in after him, closed the doors and told the driver, "Let's hit, Luther."

**St. Clotilde Home for Children**

**Seven Years Later**

Barney waited thirty minutes after Matron turned out the lights to slip out of bed. Untucking the blanket, he filled it with his few possessions and tied the corners hobo style. Carrying his shoes, he tiptoed across the hall to his brother's dormitory and gave him a shake. "Hey, buddy-boy. Time to go."

"Do we really haveta to go, Barney?" Thirteen year-old Clint rubbed his eyes and yawned. "Ya only got 'nother year 'fore ya can leave."

"And after I'm gone, Curtis'll beat your ass up every friggin' day without me to protect ya. I'm gettin' outta here. You comin' or not?"

"Yeah." Clint put his things into the middle of the blanket with Barney's help and soon they were outside and running through the field behind the Home. When they got far enough away that they wouldn't be heard, they slowed down to a walk. The shortest way to their destination was to cut through Henderson's farm. It being the middle of the night, they didn't have to worry about running into Old Mr. Henderson's prize bull.

On the other side, Barney pulled the strands of barbed wire apart so Clint could crawl through then joined him by vaulting over. This last year, Barney had shot up to six feet with a possibility of another couple of inches before nature called a halt. On the other hand, Clint had just entered that dreaded life-changing event called puberty so he still had lots of growing to do.

Up ahead, white tents dotted the land interspersed with cages, trucks, and trailers surrounding an enormous striped tent with flags flapping in the breeze. As they got closer, Barney could smell the musky scent of large animals, straw, corndogs, and the sticky sweet scent of cotton candy.

They walked between the tents and trailers until they came to a bright red one emblazoned with the words "Carson's Carnival of Traveling Wonders."

Barney hunkered down behind the tailgate of a rusty pick-up. "Here we go, buddy-boy. Our new home."

"We're gonna live in _that?_" his brother whined.

"Maybe not that one, but here in the circus. It'll be cool! We won't have to go to school and no one will tell us what to do."

Clint shrugged and plopped his backside on the open tailgate. "I guess."

Barney lay down in the bed of the truck, his head pillowed on his pack. Clint lay down next to him and soon both boys were asleep. In the morning, they presented themselves to Mr. Carson and the older man was kind enough to put them to work as roustabouts.

One day, Barney was helping Clint clean the bleachers in the big top when a man came in carrying a bow and a quiver of arrows. They watched him set up several targets and begin shooting. Clint was drawn like a magnet, and eventually, the man realized he had an audience.

"Hey. Aren't you one of the new boys?"

"Yeah. Clint Barton. That's my brother, Barney." Tentatively, Clint drew close enough to touch the bow. He snatched his hand back as if it would bite him making Barney snicker. Clint shot a glare at him and Barney just shook his head and went back to his sweeping while still keeping an eye on his brother.

The man, easily six feet four, shook Clint's hand. "Buck Chisolm. Better known as Trickshot." Chisolm saw Clint's attention was still on the bow. "Wanna try?"

Again, Barney snorted a laugh, but Clint ignored him this time. Chisolm stood behind Clint, placed the bow in his hands, showing him the correct way to hold it. At first, it was a little awkward because Chisolm was right handed and Clint was left handed, but they managed.

After a couple of false starts and wide shots, Clint finally hit the target. Clint and Chisolm exchanged high-fives, and from that day forward, every spare moment Clint had was spent with Trickshot and his partner, Jacques Duquesne AKA The Swordsman, learning to shoot, throw knives and swordfight. The two men discovered that Clint had a real talent for it. So much so that eventually, they gave Clint a part in their performance, and from there, his own show.

Sometime later, Barney became interesting in getting his GED after scoring decently on the SATs he'd taken while the circus was stranded in Boston during a heavy snowstorm. Clint, on the other hand, was only interested in performing and improving his archery skills. Barney tried to persuade his little brother to take an interest in his education, but Clint wanted no part of it.

The brothers argued when Barney became fed up with life at the carnival. He wanted a fresh start, a new life that he forged on his own. Barney decided to join the Army and again asked Clint to come with him. Clint declined leading to an estrangement that lasted several years.

~~O~~

Nervous about his first field assignment with the FBI, Barney kept smoothing his hair down and fiddling with his tie. He'd been recruited into the FBI in college and had spent the last three years as an analyst while at the same time going through rigorous specialized training, sometimes in subjects that seemed to have no connection to his job.

To calm his nerves, he poured another cup of coffee, snagged a cruller and found a seat at the conference table. The rest of his team trickled in, the district supervisor closing the door and taking a seat at the head of the table. A folder lay in front of each agent. Barney opened the folder when he saw Special Supervisory Agent Eugene Wingate open his. Behind him, the screen lit up with the photo of a hulk of a man in his late thirties, Caucasian, closely shaved brown hair and piercing dark eyes.

"Cain Marko is one of the wealthiest men in the United States. He made his money the old fashioned way. He inherited it. However, since the death of his father, Marko has made a name for himself as a brutal and merciless drug lord. But that's not all he's into. He's also heavily into racketeering, gun running…"

By this time, Barney had stopped listening to Wingate. Instead, he heard another voice. The one belonging to the woman who had rescued Barney and Clint from the wreckage of their parent's car just before it exploded. For many years, he thought she was a figment of his imagination, but now he wasn't so sure. If she _had_ been a product of his traumatized mind then why did he remember her telling him _not_ to take this assignment, to stay away from Cain Marko? Even now, he could feel her strong hands touching him and her voice, like that of an angel.

_LyubImaya__, I __really__ need you to listen to me. After university, you go to work for the FBI. On your first field assignment, you'll be sent undercover working for a man named Cain Marko. Do not take that assignment. Do you understand me, Barney? __Don't__ take that assignment._

That last had been said so forcefully that Barney heard it even in his sleep for weeks afterward. When he and Clint arrived at the St. Clotilde, they were sent to see a psychologist who convinced him that she hadn't been real because no trace of a woman had been found anywhere near the crash site.

But she'd called him _Lyubimaya_, the Russian word for sweetheart. If his imagination made her up, then how could he have known that? He was _ten_ when the accident happened and didn't learn Russian until college. In fact, his fluency in several languages, including Russian, was one of the reasons he was recruited by the FBI.

Barney didn't know why, but he believed her prediction that something terrible would happen to him if he took this assignment. After everything he and Clint had been through… He mentally shook his head. The last time he'd spoken to his brother had been the night before he left to join the Army. Every letter he sent to Clint was returned unopened. Not that he was surprised. Their argument had stopped just short of a physical clash that Barney wasn't sure he could've won. The training Clint had done with Trickshot and the Swordsman, along with the tightrope and acrobatics had made his little brother incredibly strong.

Shaking his head to dislodge the past, Barney spent the rest of the meeting trying to figure out how to get out of the assignment. When the meeting ended, he knocked on the door of his supervisor, Special Agent Allan Scofield, and was waved in. "Have a seat, Probie. You ready for your first official mission?"

Barney stayed standing, rubbing his hands together, a nervous habit he'd never been able to break. He cleared his throat, managing a smile that felt stiff and unnatural. "Yeah, about that, sir…"

"Sorry to do this to you, but it'll have to wait. There's been a change of plans. While you and your team were strategizing, a request came down the pike. A project is in the works that would benefit from your unique life experiences."

"Me, sir? _What_ unique life experiences?" Barney let his tone supply the air quotes.

Scofield reached into his breast pocket taking out a card and passing it to Barney. "Call the number on that card to arrange a meeting. All will be explained at that time."

"Yes, sir."

Barney started for the door, looking back over his shoulder when Scofield said, "You might want to take an early lunch, Probie. In case you need to make a few personal calls."

The cryptic tone of Scofield's voice set all of Barney's internal alarms jangling, and through the noise, his little voice whispered for him to be careful. He could spot a lie with one eye closed. Clint was the same, or had been. Who knew what he was up to now. Barney had once used his position with the FBI to do a full background check on Clint, but hadn't found anything helpful. No credit cards, bank accounts, IRS records, utilities, car notes. Aside from a closed juvenile record, all information on his brother stopped at the age of thirteen when they'd run away from the children's home.

He tapped the card against his palm thinking as he returned to his desk for his coat, hat, scarf and service weapon. After a quick onceover, he shoved the M1911 into his shoulder holster and snapped the guard. A smaller weapon was already strapped to the outside of his right ankle, and several knives had been secreted on his person. His phone was shoved in with the card to keep it company.

Barney locked his desk and pushed his chair in just as his deskmate slid into her chair. Her dark brown eyes gave him a long, intense stare. "Where are you headed at half past ten in the morning, Probie?"

"Got some personal business to take care of so I'm going to lunch a little early, Agent Kaufman. Already cleared it with the boss."

She continued to stare, and Barney got the idea that she didn't believe him though he knew for a fact that he had no tells when it came to prevarication. Hell! Call it what it was. Lying. He'd just lied to the woman who office gossip said would be his partner once he was cleared for field work, which was supposed to be _now_. But the way Scofield looked at him when he passed over the card said something more was going on, and apparently the only way to find out what was to call the number.

Kaufman dropped her eyes, finally releasing him from her probing inspection. _Or is that her Probie inspection?_

"If you get anywhere near Julio's bring me a number seven with…"

"Extra tomatoes."

"Absolutely." Kaufman grinned, her teeth a brilliant white against her pecan brown skin as she passed him a twenty and a wink. "And get something pretty for yourself, honey."

Barney sat on the corner of Kaufman's desk and took her hand between both of his. "Special Agent Layne Kaufman, will you marry me?"

She rolled her eyes and yanked her hand back with a mock glare. "You ask me that at least twice a week, Probie. My answer is the same: No."

Pretending to heartbroken, Barney stuck out his lower lip. "Why not? I have a job that pays well, have incredible physical strength and stamina," he flexed his biceps and wiggled his eyebrows, "the looks-decent wagon didn't pass me by, and let's face it, you _love_ me."

"While all of that is true, to the best of my knowledge, I'm very happily married to this city's District Attorney. And he and our three teenaged children would rather I didn't date."

Snorting, Barney got to his feet and buttoned his coat, pressing a hand over his heart. "Then I'll just go drown my sorrows in a bottle of cheap tequila and have copious amounts of casual sex in an attempt to alleviate the pain of rejection."

Kaufman's mock glare turned into a knowing smile. "In other words, nothing's going to change."

"Exactly!" He looked at his watch. "Gotta go."

The ride down to the parking level gave Barney time to think, but he hadn't come to any conclusions as to why he would be chosen for a special project when there was nothing spectacular to distinguish him from the other very qualified agents in the department. Certainly there were more experienced agents, so why would they come to someone who was little more than a rookie? Everyone still called him "Probie" for gosh sakes.

Barney got in his car and left the parking level, turning right into traffic. At the light, he took a burner phone from the glove compartment and dialed the number on the front. It was answered on the first ring. "_Transferring to a secure line, Agent Barton._"

Momentarily stunned, Barney responded with, "How did you know…"

There were clicks and beeps then another voice came on the line. "_Thank you for calling, Agent Barton. Please come to Number Ten LaPaloma at exactly eleven fifteen today and I'll be waiting._"

More confused than ever, Barney said, "Wait!"

"_Make it quick, Agent Barton._"

Though he was tempted to say "screw you" and hang up, Barney's curiosity was aroused. He _had_ to know what why Scofield had sent him on a snipe hunt. "I just wanna know who I'm talking to. Is that too much to ask?"

"_Not at all._" The man's chair creaked as he moved. "_However, my name is unimportant at the moment. Don't be late._"

The line went dead. Barney removed the back of the phone, took out the SIM card, and stuck it in his pocket, and replaced it with a factory new one just as the light changed. Taking his time and traveling by a circuitous route, he arrived at the address he'd been given by the mysterious man on the phone, but he had to have gotten it wrong because this wasn't an office building. He was parked in front of an abandoned warehouse. The windows were smeared with dirt and grime, and the loading dock hadn't been opened in years. Pigeons and other birds had built nests on every ledge.

He got out and stood next to his car for a long moment as he scanned the area. There were no security cameras that he could see, and no other cars in sight. Releasing the strap and putting his hand on his service weapon, he approached the only door at the top of a short flight of stairs. When he turned the handle, he found it unlocked.

Standing with his back against the wall, Barney eased the door open just far enough for him to dart inside and to the left so he wouldn't be backlit by the sun. His eyes quickly adjusted to the light filtering through the dirty windows, but there was nothing to see. The vast room was completely empty except for dirt, dust, old bits of paper and the musty odor of disuse. Keeping his back to the wall, he made a complete circuit of the room, coming back to his starting point without finding anything helpful. If this was the right place and the right time, where was the man he was supposed to meet?

As if in answer, a voice said, "Thank you for coming, Agent Barton."

His weapon came out of the holster as Barney swung around looking for the source. A moment later, footsteps echoed, seeming to come from all over. They stopped and a single light came on. At the edge of that small pool of illumination stood a Caucasian man approximately five nine, with a receding hairline and a mild expression.

Tired of playing games, Barney demanded, "Who are you and what do you want?"

The man moved fully into the light and waited for Barney to do the same. "My name is Phil Coulson."

**TBC**


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N:** This is another AU of the Avengers, post movie. Many thanks to ladygris for doing the Beta services again.

**Warning:** May contain spoilers for _Captain America, The Winter Soldier, Marvel's Agents of SHIELD and Avengers 2, The Age of Ultron_.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the Avengers, Marvel, Facebook, Twitter or YouTube. If I've left anything out, aside from the OC characters, I don't own them/it either. Someone else does.

Namaste,

Sandy

How cruelly sweet are the echoes that start,

When memory plays an old tune on the heart.

~Eliza Cook

**Avengers**

**Echoes**

**Chapter 20**

"That tells me who _you_ are, but not who you work for." Barney holstered his weapon sensing that Coulson wouldn't hurt him unless he felt it was necessary and he wouldn't need back-up to do it.

"Same as you, the U.S. government."

Barney wanted to rub his hands together to dispel his nervousness, but refused to show it in front of Coulson. "What are you? CIA? NSA? NID? Some other three-letter clandestine division."

One side of Coulson's mouth turned upward a fraction of an inch. "We have a more specialized focus. Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Department."

"So SHIELD?" Cracking his knuckles, Barney held in a snort. "What do you want _me_ for?"

Coulson clasped his hands in front of him. "What we want, Agent Barton is your assistance with a special project."

"I'm just a rookie FBI agent who's been marking time as an analyst. I was supposed to go on my first field assignment this week. Now I'm here. How can _I_ help SHIELD?"

"We need you to find someone for us. He's gone to ground and we need him brought in."

Barney's first instinct was to laugh himself silly, and he might have if Coulson had betrayed even the slightest hint that he was having a chuckle at his expense, that this was all some elaborate hazing ritual put on by his team. "I'm assuming your division has a job description that allows a little more latitude in its interpretation of the law." When Coulson didn't respond, Barney took that as a yes. "With just a word, you can access every Wi-Fi accessible camera on the planet. Anything that connects to a satellite can become your eyes and ears? In just a few moments, you could find out what I had for breakfast?"

"Coffee and a low fat banana nut muffin."

Making a sound of derision, Barney spread his arms out to the side. "Then if _you_ can't find this guy with all of your resources, what makes you think _I_ can?"

"A paper trail can't be followed when there isn't one. This man exists off the grid. Off of _every_ grid. The last time he was on any _official_ grids was seven years ago."

Because he had to move or go nuts, Barney started pacing, and Coulson's eyes tracked his movements. _Just_ his eyes. The man was making him twitchy with that stare. "I'm gonna run down the list just to make sure I have all the facts straight. You're looking for a guy who doesn't use technology of any kind-that you know of, there's no record of where he's been and what he's been doing for seven years and you want _me_ to find him for you. Have I got that right?"

"Essentially."

"So my next question is why?"

Again that barely there smile that was almost a smirk showed itself. Barney was hooked, and Coulson knew it. "We just want to have a sit-down with him."

Barney stopped pacing to stare incredulously at Coulson. He waved his arms and let them fall to slap against his thighs. Now Barney did laugh, but without humor. "He must be something _really_ special for you to go to all this trouble."

"He is."

"If I do this, what's in it for me? What's the _quid pro quo?_"

Coulson shrugged as if he'd expected the question. Probably did. The impression that Barney got from him was that he either had all the answers or could get them. Coulson also didn't like asking for help, and that could work in Barney's favor. The other agent's eyes never left Barney's face. "You could look on this as a sort of audition, Agent Barton. If we like your performance, you'll be offered a position with SHIELD. So what'll it be? Will you help us?"

About to refuse, Barney changed his mind in mid thought. "What the hell? Why not? Yeah, I'll do it. What's this superman's name?"

Coulson made a dramatic pause that would've made Hitchcock proud. "Clinton Francis Barton."

Barney's pause was longer, though not done for dramatic effect. His brain stuttered to a brief stop and it took a moment to get it going again. "You want me to go on a man-hunt for my own brother? What's he done this time?"

"This time? Has he been in trouble with the law before?" Coulson's questions rang false, but Barney played along.

"Shortly after we joined Carson's, Clint got picked up by the police for, uh, pickpocketing, breaking into cars, siphoning gas, a little second-and third-story work, stuff like that. Even stole a bike, well, borrowed it. He gave it back the next day."

Barney knew that Coulson wouldn't go for anything but full disclosure. He chuckled humorlessly. "You don't join the circus to get rich. When money was tight for the performers, Clint and I would run a con at diners. We'd wait until it was busy then one of us would go in, order just a drink and sit there getting free refills while reading the newspaper or a magazine. The other one would go in acting like he was in a big hurry, scarf down his food and ask for the check. At the same time, the first one asks for his check. Then the guy who ate the meal accidentally picks up the wrong tab, pays the bill and leaves. The first guy goes to the register and tells the cashier that his check is wrong, that he only had coffee or coke, pay his bill and leave. So, for the price of a couple of drinks, we both got a full meal. Sometimes it was the only meal we had that day, or the next. Couldn't hit the same place twice though."

"And you never got caught?"

"Once, but the manager was cool. He fed us-twice! And in return we washed dishes, scrubbed floors, and washed windows. Even told us to come back the next time we were in town." As embarrassing as it was to tell that story, Barney felt even more so for this next part. "When I was accepted by the academy, I sent money to all the places we conned. Anonymously, and with interest, of course."

Coulson nodded as if he understood. No. Not understood. He'd already known. "Anything else you'd like to tell me about your brother's life of crime?"

Barney shook his head. "That's pretty much it. Once I left for the Army, we didn't have contact so I have no idea what kind of life he's been leading."

Reaching into his inside pocket, Coulson brought out a state-of-the-art smart phone and tapped the screen. Barney's gave an answering beep signaling that he'd received information not of an official nature. Yes, they had an app for that. The government had an app for everything. In fact, they were the first to get their hands on any new technology. Many of which still weren't available to the general public.

While he read through the files, Coulson footnoted them. "As you can see, the reason you couldn't locate any information on your brother is that he was going by an alias. In fact, the last two circuses he worked with, Tibolt's and Coney Island, didn't even know his given name. He presented himself to the owners simply as Hawkeye. Then, one night shortly before his eighteenth birthday, after his final performance of the night, your brother packed up and left without telling anyone where he was going. There's been almost no trace of him since."

"Maybe he's dead. Did that ever occur to you?"

"It did, but we don't count it as a firm possibility. Your brother is too resourceful to allow himself to go into a situation where he didn't have a back-up plan and more than one avenue of escape."

Suddenly warm, Barney shed his coat, hat and scarf, folding them in the cleanest spot he could find on the floor. "Granted. You still haven't answered my question. Why are you looking for him?"

"We want to offer him a job."

That surprised Barney more than anything Coulson had said since their meeting started. "You want Clint to come for a _job interview?_"

"SHIELD could use someone with his, and your, special talents. Unfortunately, he won't stay in one place long enough for anyone to start a conversation. And no matter how we approach him, he knows we're law enforcement." Coulson let Barney think about that for a while then added, "About a year ago, we received an anonymous tip that Clint had been sighted in Boulder. My men caught up with him and attempted to take him into custody just until I could have a few words with him. He got away by shooting out our tires…"

Barney's snort of contempt echoed in the enormous room. "My brother's never touched a gun in his _life_."

"…with a bow and arrow. The arrows he used were handmade and each contained a small amount of explosive, just enough to disable the vehicles without doing any major damage. He got away by climbing a drainpipe to the roof of a ten story building.

"Previously, he'd used another type of arrow to disable the alarm system on a discount store in such a way that the monitoring company didn't know there was a problem until the manager opened for the day." For the first time, the two men actually shared a real smile.

"How much did he take? I'll make good on it, with interest." Barney promised.

Coulson shrugged one shoulder. "The safe and registers weren't touched. All he took was some kids' toys and clothes."

Something Clint once said popped into Barney's head. "Was it around Christmas?"

"Yes. Two months later, the manager found an envelope stuffed with crumpled dollar bills and a butt-load of change. Just enough to cover what was taken."

Rubbing both hands over his face, Barney chuckled. "Sonofa_*****!_ So my little brother has a conscience after all. And _you _want him to work for SHIELD. He doesn't like working within the system so I can't promise anything."

"All of the resources of SHIELD will be at your disposal, should you need them, Agent Barton. When you've found your brother, bring him here."

"How do I get in touch with you when I do?"

Coulson smiled, one eyebrow lifted. "You don't."

Facing away from Coulson, Barney took a few steps and stopped. "Sonofa… My life just keeps getting _better_ and _better_. Uh, look, Agent Coulson…" When Barney turned back, the SHIELD agent was gone.

**SHIELD Compound**

**Quantico, Virginia**

**Post-Chitauri Invasion**

"Fire in the hole!"

Two things happened so quickly that they seemed to occur simultaneously. The C-4 was ignited just as a bright white beam of light tinged with red shot through the ceiling from above, swelled and encompassed the entire room. All the occupants dropped to the floor covering their heads and squeezing their eyes shut against the light and noise.

Natasha grabbed Selvig, tumbling them both to the floor as the beam drove itself into the electronic equipment. The computers lit up and information in an alien script carried within the beam began downloading itself into the network.

Her Widow's Bites weren't strong enough to overload the system that now appeared to be self-sustaining. There had to be a way to stop it. Following the conduits with her eyes, she came up with a plan. It wasn't a good plan or even a mediocre plan, but it was all they had. It would work or it wouldn't. If not, then they'd have to come up with something else fairly quickly.

Getting to her feet, Natasha jumped onto the desk and over the equipment to land in front of Gilroy and his team. She snatched two grenades from Gilroy's belt, and with one in each hand, her thumbs pulled the pins, and using all of her considerable strength, she heaved them at the junction box near the ceiling.

Without being told, those standing dropped to the floor and covered their heads. The explosion came a few seconds later, battering at their already overtaxed senses and raining debris down on them. Several people cried out when they were hit with large chunks of concrete and metal. Hopefully, no one was seriously hurt.

Natasha lifted her head, Gilroy and his team doing the same. She pressed her hands into the floor, pushing herself to her hands and knees then to her feet. "Everyone okay? Anyone hurt?"

Selvig staggered to his feet, coughing through the smoke in the air and nodding. "That did it. The power to the computer has been severed."

On a separate circuit, the air filtration system kicked in and soon the room was smoke free. Scientists and soldiers alike got to their feet, looking around at the destruction caused by the grenades. Selvig's team rushed to their equipment to assess the damage. From the groans, the news wasn't good. _At least they're alive to tell the story._

A strike team burst through the main entrance, fanning out and quickly searching the area. After the all clear, their leader approached Natasha and Gilroy. "Ma'am. Sir. We received an alarm that there was an explosion. Care to catch us up?" The man put a hand to his ear and nodded. He took out another headset and handed it to Natasha. "It's Director Fury, ma'am. He wants to speak to you."

She snatched the headset from him and stuck it in her ear. "This is Agent Romanoff…No, sir. No major injuries…We don't know, sir. But you'll have our reports ASAP…Yes, sir."

Turning her head, she saw Selvig watching her with a resigned expression. "We're shutting down the project."

"Seems likely, but I wouldn't say that just yet. He wants a full report by 0900 tomorrow. You can teleconference. Just don't be late."

Selvig and two members of his team shot her an irritated glance before going back to work. Behind her, Gilroy conferred with the leader of the group that had just arrived, her mind taking in what they were saying without letting it interfere with other thought processes.

As the adrenaline began to loosen its hold, she no longer felt the urge to fight though the need to be doing something lingered. Running usually helped burn off the excess adrenaline, but she couldn't do that while there was still an investigation to be finish. Using a tablet, she read each preliminary report as it came in, correlating them into a summary that she would present to Fury and Hill in the morning.

As she wandered around the room, she was struck with a sudden vision. Over by the row of cabinets that ran along one wall she saw two white draped figures. Uncertain if what she was seeing was real, she crouched next to the forms and carefully lifted the cover from the one closest to her, dread leaving a bad taste in the back of her throat. The face revealed was familiar: Clint. Gasping, she dropped the cover and backed away slowly shaking her head. It _can't_ be. He wasn't even supposed to be here.

"Agent Romanoff? You alright, ma'am?"

Natasha's head snapped around at hearing Gilroy's voice behind her. She looked into his concerned face then back at the bodies on the floor only to find they'd disappeared. "Yes, of course. Why do you ask?" The words came out sharper than she meant so she added a smile to soften them.

"You look a little pale. Maybe you should get checked out by one of the medics."

"Perhaps you're right." She handed the tablet to Gilroy then presented herself to the medics to be examined. And just as she thought, there was no damage done aside from bruises and scrapes which would heal in a few days.

By the time they were done with the investigation, it was close to midnight, and though all Natasha wanted was to crawl in bed and sleep, that sense of urgency still prickled in the back of her mind telling her that something still wasn't right. That she had to rush, but toward what, she didn't know. She might have thought it a trick of her imagination if it weren't for the fact that she wasn't prone to such things. She left Selvig and Gilroy to the cleaning up after a reminder of the debriefing.

Sitting in the back of the Quinjet, Natasha became more and more restless. She began to fidget, something she _never_ did. As soon as the ramp hit the deck, she ran down and across to the hatch that would take her into the bowels of the boat, but instead of going to her quarters, she had another destination in mind. As she approached, music could be heard through the door, the song strange yet familiar. Taking a deep breath to calm her thundering heartbeat, she put on a smile and knocked on the door. It slid open and she stepped inside. "Hey."

Clint's face brightened at seeing her. "Hey, partner. Heard you had some excitement tonight."

"A little. Sorry you missed it?"

"_Hell_ no."

He continued to strum the tune he'd been playing when she arrived. Natasha sat sideways on the bed with one leg curled under, listening. "What's that song? I've heard it before, but don't remember the name."

Clint snorted and reached for a bottle of water. "You can't have heard it before because I just wrote it."

"I didn't know you wrote music."

He uncapped the bottle, giving her an enigmatic smile. "Then I guess you don't know me as well as you thought, _moy drug_." The bottle was recapped and set aside. Without her needing to ask, he started at the beginning. "The working title is 'Find My Way'."

Closing her eyes, Natasha let the words and music flow around her, swaying to the beat. As the last note of the final chorus faded away, the door chimed startling Natasha out of her reverie.

Clint called out, "Come in." A sandy-haired man with blue-gray eyes stepped inside, his large stature making the tiny room seem crowded. Clint greeted him with a smile. "Barney! Thought you weren't due back 'till Friday, big brother."

"Had to get home to see my girl." Natasha's hand was snagged, the man tugged and she found herself pressed up against a firmly muscled chest. "_Privet__, krasivaya._"

His head lowered toward hers and their lips touched. Natasha pulled away, breathless and her eyes wide with shock. "_Bozhe moi_."

Barney chuckled. "How about that? Two years together and we still got it."

Clint made gagging noises. "Well take _it_ and go get a room."

"We have one."

Barney started to kiss her again, stopping when Clint interjected, "One that's not _mine_. I love you both, and I'm really glad you're marrying my best friend, Barn. But do you _have_ to do that _here?_"

"No, we don't." Taking Natasha's hand, Barney led her toward the door.

Clint went back to strumming his guitar, a smirk on the side of his face Natasha could see. "Watch out for that one, bro. She's trouble."

Pursing her lips to keep from smirking, she said, "I'm not trouble, _ebanashka_. I'm just a challenge to handle."

"I couldn't agree more." Again, Barney leaned down to plant a quick kiss on her lips. To Clint, he said, "_Spokoynoy nochi, mladshiy brat__._"

The door closed on Clint playing the song again, and Natasha really wished she could recall where she heard it before, despite his claim to have just written it. In bed later that night, when Barney's strong arms held her close, Natasha decided that nothing else mattered, as long as they were together. She snuggled closer and closed her eyes.

**At An Undisclosed Location**

The room was filled with people standing or sitting in groups of two to five all talking about what the meeting was about. Second-in-command Charlie knew what was going on, but he'd been instructed not to say anything. At exactly 1600, Charlie excused himself and walked to the front of the room.

"Will you all please take your seats?" He waited until everyone complied then continued. "As you know, the leader of this cell was killed in the Chitauri attack over Manhattan which has left a void in the hierarchy. The position was offered to me, but I've declined." Excited murmuring sprang up, and Charlie waited it out. Having seen first-hand what happens when someone screws up, Charlie preferred to delegate orders rather than give them. "You're here to meet the newest member of our team."

Charlie nodded for the guards to open the side door. A tall, slender man with blonde hair touched with gray entered and strode purposefully to the front of the room, taking Charlie's place behind the sturdy table. He waited for the noise to die down before speaking. "Thank you all for coming on such short notice. I know we're all busy so I'll be brief.

"Soon, the operation will be complete. SHIELD will fall, removing the only true obstacle to world domination." His gaze traveled around the room meeting each set of eyes. "You may recognize my public persona as fashion designer Jared Fox, but we all know that's just a cover for my real calling. Hail HYDRA!"

Chairs scraped over the tile floor as everyone got to their feet, echoing his words. "Hail HYDRA! Hail HYDRA! Hail HYDRA!"

**The End**


End file.
